


Hands

by soshedances



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Mostly Fluff, Through the Years, with a tiny side of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soshedances/pseuds/soshedances
Summary: Five times his hands have changed her mind, and the one time they don't.





	1. Ilderton, Ontario, 1997

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsDaffodil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsDaffodil/gifts).



> Listen, I don't really know how I got here. Well, I do and MsDaffodil is entirely to blame - Happy Extended Birthday Festivus!
> 
> I haven't written anything resembling RPF in ten years, and it's definitely never left the dark, shadowy corners of my laptop before now. I don't have a beta, so any and all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please have mercy on my rusty writer soul and excessive use of italics.

The first time he takes her hand in his, she feels nothing out of the ordinary. She's pretty sure that she should feel something - shouldn't it feel weird to hold hands with a boy? _Especially the loud, outgoing Moir boy._ She's certain that if her classmates saw her skating slow laps around the rink with him, hand in hand, there would be plenty of giggling and whispers about cooties.

What she does feel is grown up, with her hair pulled back in a slick bun, wearing her best skating dress and her mom's slightly too dark lipstick. She imagines that this is how the real skaters feel when she watches them on her TV, in their glamorous costumes that are _almost_ as impressive as the delicate tutus her favourite ballerinas wear. She wonders if they too feel nervous, butterflies dancing in their stomachs as they take their opening positions on the ice. Not that she is nervous. No, Tessa Jane McCormick Virtue does NOT get nervous! Definitely not about skating with a boy...

Taking a deep breath, she returns her focus to where their hands are joined between them, his fingers wrapped around her thick woolen mittens in an easy grip. Pulling ahead of her, he tugs lightly on her hand and she shifts her attention to matching his strokes. _Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right._ The rhythm is soothing and several laps pass before she finds him gently squeezing her hand as they slow to a stop. She looks up, making eye contact for the first time since their parents introduced them that morning and her gaze meets a crinkling pair of hazel eyes and a warm smile that she cannot help but mirror. He keeps his hand wrapped around hers as Coach Carol asks if they'd like to do this more often and she finds herself nodding in response. While she still didn't understand what all the fuss was about when it came to holding hands with a boy, skating with Scott was _fun._ She's pretty sure that she can handle the giggles and accusations of cooties if it means that she get to skate like that every day.

\- - -

It turns out, those whispers and giggles won't come until much later, when Tessa finds herself holding hands with a different boy. At least, that's what they're supposed to be doing...  
  
It's the middle of a warm July day and she's in character class. She's spending a month at the National Ballet School, learning what it might be like if she wanted to train here full time. Her partner, Ian, is supposed to be holding her hand in preparation for their polonaise walks, but instead he is leaning backwards on the barre and whispering loudly to the boys beside him. Their teacher, a tall, imposing Russian man whose quiet demeanor is more terrifying than any amount of yelling, shoots Ian a heavy glare and he snaps to attention beside her. When their phrase of music begins, Ian offers his hand and their palms press together. She squirms a little - his skin feels sweaty, awkward and just plain _wrong_. If he squeezes her hand too tightly as they promenade around the room or tries to tickle her palm as they wait for a second turn, she just rolls her eyes and reminds herself that she is a professional, thank you very much! Well, she knows she might not be one yet, but she thinks she could be pretty good at this if they offer her a place for September...

The month draws to a close and after a much anticipated phone call, her parents emerge from their meeting with a large white packet that can only mean she's gotten the offer that she's dreamed of for years. She bounces with excitement as they load up the car with her belongings, wanting to hear more about what had been said in this very important meeting and longing to explore the contents of the thick envelope in her hand. They begin the drive back to London and she listens to her mom chatter on about all the opportunities the school has to offer her. She'll get to dance every day, perform several roles in _The Nutcracker_ with the National Ballet company, she can even keep up her piano lessons with one of the school's musicians! On the other hand, she would have to move away from home and live in the residence full time and she wouldn't be able to continue skating, there just wouldn't be any time and _Oh..._ She hadn't really stopped to think about how she might not be able to do both of those things. Her excitement fizzled and settled in the pit of her stomach with a thud, sinking deeper as she realized that she had a choice to make and that either way, someone (including her) would be disappointed. 

\- - -

The September air is bright and crisp as Tessa hoists her bag over her shoulder, and she thinks that maybe it smells a bit like new beginnings. She straightens her spine and tugs at her skirt as she approaches the double doors in front of her, still uncertain if the decision she made is the right one, but hoping that she confidently projects otherwise. She slips through the doors seemingly unnoticed and heads for the change room when-

"TUTU!"

She spots Scott running full speed down the hall.

"You're back!" He huffs out as he skids to a halt in front of her and she can't help the giggle that erupts at the look of complete surprise plastered across his face. "I thought you were gonna go to that fancy ballet school..."

"I turned them down," she watches as his eyes grow even wider. "I told them I'd already promised to be your partner, and partners don't break promises." At this point, she's pretty sure his face is going to split in two from how wide he's smiling and it might just be one of the best things she's ever seen. Any shred of doubt she had left about making the wrong decision begins to melt away as Scott extends his arm for her to take, "Well then partner, what are you waiting for? Let's skate!"

As they step out on to the ice, their hands slotting into place with thumbs resting one on top of the other, she thinks it feels something like the word _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end of this without falling asleep, I'm impressed.
> 
> I write at an impossibly slow pace, so who knows when Chapter 2 will appear. In the meantime, you can yell at me on tumblr or twitter (where I may or may not answer) at soshedances18.


	2. Gothenburg, Sweden, 2008

Despite every snide comment from Igor. Despite every disapproving stare from Marina. Despite the hushed whispers and the weighing and the measuring and the measly diet of almonds and celery. Despite the constant nagging feeling that he could do better ( _without her_ ), his hands never fail to make her feel like she is enough.

When Igor barks "AGAIN" after they botch the entry into their twizzles, it's a squeeze of her hand as he whispers ' _together'_  that allows her to keep pushing. When Marina insinuates for the third time that day that she is too heavy for Scott to lift, it's the feeling of his fingers cupped around the point her hip bone that grounds her in reality. When the other girls spend lunch hour counting calories and the fat content of their yogurt, it's him sliding her a square of dark chocolate under the table as his eyes flash a warning look that reads ' _don't you dare_ ' that gives her pause to reconsider.

Which is not to say that she listens. At 9, she'd pinned an image of her favourite dancer to her bulletin board with a caption that read "greatness comes with a price." Now, at 18, she's learned that the costs often takes the form of sacrifice ( _ballet school, the comfort of her family home, anything resembling a normal social life..._ ). So if she skips breakfast once or twice, or ignores the dull throbbing that recently seems to have taken up residence in her shins, it's just another deposit in her savings account for success. She's been making a lot of these lately, and as Scott places his hand on her lower back to lead her into their free dance, she finds herself hoping that this is the time she can cash them in. She curves backwards against him, leaning into their starting pose, and although she can't see Scott's face, she can still feel the gentle, reassuring calm flowing from where their hands are joined.

The sound of steadily drumming rain fills the arena. A deep breath in, thunder roars and then she's flying. There's no thought of Igor or Marina, of the judgement or the judges ( _or the pain_ ), it's just her and Scott and the story unfolding. She weaves into and out of the safety of his arms, reaches for him and past him, their characters grasping at the slippery edges of a young love that was never meant to be sustained. The smile on her face is one of pure elation as the cold air fills her lungs, every cell of her body is singing in time with the strings and she doesn't think she's ever felt this complete, this _alive._ In that moment she is certain that not only is she enough, but that as long as she can skate she'll be chasing this high.

She's not sure if Scott is experiencing the same intense revelation, but when he sets her down from their rotational lift she thinks she catches a glimmer of it in his eyes. When he reaches back to pull her into their ending pose, she knows for sure, can feel the same electricity crackling off of him and a small giggle of disbelief bubbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. She thinks she hears Scott let out a muffled, but celebratory "yes" while his head is still lowered. However, when he turns around to hug her, he seems incredibly composed. He murmurs the usual phrases of congratulations and encouragement into her hair ( _"we did it!" "I love you" "I'm so proud!"_ ), but any trace of what she saw earlier is gone. Her Scott, the one who wears his heart on his sleeve, whose emotions she can usually read like an open book, is hiding. In some strange turn of events, they seem to have reversed roles - she is the one who can't stop vibrating, who fidgets with nervous energy as they wait for their scores and squeals when she sees the numbers. There's still one couple left to skate and she knows it's not enough for gold, but she can't bring herself to feel even a sliver of disappointment.

Scott seems hesitant to agree. She can read him well enough to see the gears whirling in his head, calculating the combined scores of their opponents, measuring their strengths against his weaknesses, playing out every possible scenario he can imagine and then finally grinding to a halt when he understands that no matter what, they'll end up with a medal. He emerges from behind his shield of caution as she curls her arms around him and reciprocates her little bounce of victory with an even tighter hug.

Later, as they stand on the podium with silver draped around their necks, his hand will find its way back to her hip bone. Adrenaline still racing, his touch pulls her back to earth, turns her to take in the tears of the French team as their anthem plays as if to say _"soon"_ and with a light squeeze, _"that will be us."_ She breathes out, reminds herself to unclench her toes within her skates and smiles up at him as she sends a silent _thank you_ out into the universe. _Just one step closer and one more investment in the bank._

\- - -

If greatness comes with a price, then how high does she allow the cost to rise before she admits that maybe she is not meant to experience success?

She finds herself turning this question over and over again in her mind, sitting in the pale first light of a chilly October morning. It feels like she's back in high school again, fumbling through an algebra equation with no end in sight, like the timer for a test is ticking down and there's no one to turn to for assistance. She never enjoyed math class, even with its logic and its rules, and this particular problem doesn't seem to be easily solved. Scott was always the math whiz, zooming through logic sets, understanding geometry angles and solving for X as though it was the simplest thing he'd ever done. Then again, _everything seems to come naturally to Scott_ , she thinks as she wraps herself tighter in her blanket, hoping it might ward off some of the bitterness she feels creeping into her bloodstream.

Yes, he is the talented one. The "once in a generation" skater, she's heard people say. She doesn't fault him for it, she knows he's worked hard for what he's achieved, but he's not the one whose body has betrayed them.

She hasn't told him yet, but it turns out there's a hard limit to what her body will allow her to compromise in the name of their career. All those sacrifices over the past year ( _the ignorance, the denial, the lying, the pushing through_ ), they've caught up with her and brought her to a screeching halt. No amount of physical therapy, ice _,_ or near illegal doses of anti-inflammatory drugs will fix it or hold it at bay. Instead, she finds herself faced with an ultimatum: surgery, with an unknowable success rate, or retirement at the age of 19.

She knows he won't be happy with either option, it's why she's waited this long to tell him. It might be why she even let herself get this far in the first place. If this had happened earlier in their career ( _she thinks of the stinging disappointment of 2006_ ), she might have given up already, but now she's had a taste of the adrenaline rush that comes with being at the top of her game, she doesn't think she could walk away even if she wanted to.

They'd talked about it, on the flight home from Gothenburg. When the excitement had worn off, she'd tried to gather her thoughts, searched for words adequate enough to describe the seismic shift that had occurred in her world. She had been nervous that he might not understand, that maybe this was what skating had always felt like to him. She'd unintentionally muttered that last thought out loud and had been met with him reaching to stop her anxious fidgeting by interweaving their fingers. His other hand had tilted her chin upwards, forced her eyes to meet his intense stare as he'd sought to reassure her that she was not alone, that the feeling, however fleeting, was not imagined. From there, it was as if a spark had been set aflame, and they'd thrown themselves into training as hard and as many hours a day as they could in pursuit of that next high, their sights set on the top of the one podium they wanted most - Vancouver 2010.

Her stomach turns at the thought of the Olympics and she pulls herself further into her blanket cocoon. Their two year plan is crumbling to pieces before her eyes and she knows there's only one possible way to salvage it. She won't make it much further in her current state - she can barely walk the 20 steps from the couch to her bedroom, never mind skate three Olympic level programs. She understands that surgery is the only plausible answer, she made peace with that idea as soon as it was presented to her. What terrifies her more than anything is the uncertainty of the outcome. What if she puts herself through surgery and months of rehab, only to have her ( _their_ ) dreams shattered again if it doesn't work? She thinks maybe the weight of this decision wouldn't be so hard to bear if it was only her future at stake. She tries to picture Scott skating without her, completing their two year plan, winning that medal with his once in a generation talent and a different partner by his side. She feels nauseous at the idea, but also guilty for believing she might have some sense of ownership or say in his career after keeping this from him for so long.

Her spiral into the depths of despair is interrupted by a knock at the door. It opens a crack and Scott peers into her room ( _crap, her mom must have let him in_ ), taking stock of the situation in front of him. She wonders for a brief second if she could just disappear into the blankets entirely and feign sleep, but she knows better than to think he would be fooled.

"Hey T, you okay? I know we agreed to take this weekend off, but I didn't hear from you after your appointment yesterday..."

He closes the door behind him and pads across the room, settling himself at the foot of her bed. She peers at him over the top of her blanket and yeah, apparently they're having this conversation now, despite the fact that the sun is barely up and she's yet to see a cup of coffee.

She sighs. "Which part do you want first - the good news or the bad?" She knows that the good news isn't _really_  good, but hopes that maybe if she tackles it gently enough, he might not notice she's been lying to him about just how broken she's been for the past five months?

"It's early Virtch, so why don't we start with the good?"

He looks so relaxed, has no idea that what she's about to tell him affects their entire future and she braces herself as she launches into her poorly rehearsed speech.

"Well, I finally have a diagnosis. Chronic Exertional Compartment Syndrome." She watches his face carefully as she proceeds. "We know that when we exercise, the pressure and blood flow to our muscles increases, and then when we rest it returns to normal." This has been drilled into both of them as a reason to properly warm-up and cool down, and he nods attentively. _So far, so good._

"The muscles in my shins aren't able to do this properly, because the tissue - the fascia - surrounding them is too tight. When I move, the pressure rises, but it isn't able to drop back down to normal levels as quickly as it should. It's limiting the circulation, which is why I've been experiencing the pain, cramping and numbness." She can see the wheels to start to turn in his head, anticipates his next question and cuts him off, trying carefully not to sound as though she is pointing fingers or placing blame.

"It’s an overuse injury. The doctors say that it's likely being caused by the amount of training that I am doing. Our sport isn't as high impact as others, but we rely so heavily on our lower legs to navigate our edges, to aid in our power and our speed..." She trails off as she watches him process, sees a flicker of hope cross his face. _Shit._

"Okay, so if we cut back our training hours, give your legs a break and a chance to return to normal, then you'll be able to heal? We can work with that!" She should have seen this coming, should've known he'd be the eternal optimist who'd take the good news and run with it. Now he's going to sit there and stare at her with those giant hopeful puppy dog eyes while she proceeds to crush their dreams. This has backfired splendidly.

"No, Scott. I wish it were that simple." She tries to pull her blanket tighter still, as if it can shield her from the disappointment she's about to unleash. "There are two treatment options. Well, no, there's only one. I don't consider retirement an option. I'm not giving up on this."

If this were a cartoon, she thinks Scott's eyes would've popped out of his head before returning to their sockets. He sits up straighter, reaches out for her and she pulls away, has to if she's going to make it through this next part without cracking.

"Tessa..." He sounds just as scared as she feels.

"Surgery," she feels the nausea from earlier returning and forces herself to barrel onwards. "I need surgery, Scott. To relieve the pressure. They'll open the fascia, maybe remove some it. And then hopefully the pain will stop and I'll be able to skate again." She can't bring herself to meet his eyes, but she can see his knuckles turning white as he grasps at the comforter, can hear him as he whispers "hopefully?"

With that, the dam breaks and the tears she's been holding back begin to stream down her face as she tells him that the success rate for the surgery is usually above eighty percent, but there's no guarantee it will permanently resolve the issue. She waits for the puzzle pieces to slot together, for him to become angry with her for pushing her body this far, for keeping it a secret, for jeopardizing all of their future plans. Instead he holds her, and she sobs harder as he promises that they'll get through this together, that he would never skate with anybody else, that he'll always be there for her no matter how the surgery goes. She falls asleep in the circle of his arms, his hands making soothing strokes along her back, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, they'll be okay.

\- - -

In the end, they're not okay.

He's gone when she wakes up that morning with his scent on her sheets, and he's still gone when she comes out of surgery a week later. When the anesthesia and the painkillers wear off, she's not sure which muscle hurts more, is fairly certain her heart has shattered alongside her shins.

They're not okay when she returns to Canton two months later, feeling like a knobbly new-born foal taking her first steps back onto the ice. It's clear that in her absence, he's connected all the dots, built up his walls as he worked through disappointment, betrayal, anger, resentment and god knows what else. Yet for some reason he's still there, offering a hand to steady her balance as she relearns the simplest of sequences.

They're not okay when they defend their title at Nationals a month later, having only run through their programs in full once. He tells the world how proud he is of her, that they don't understand what she had to go through in order to be there. He doesn't look at her when he says it though, and the world doesn't know they aren't speaking, that they can't say more than three words to each other off the ice.

They're still not okay when they come back from Worlds with a bronze medal, feeling like they might be edging back on track for their two year plan. If she ignores the feeling in her gut that tells her the surgery wasn't a total success, then he doesn't need to know that part just yet.

They're _really_ not okay when Marina throws them into marriage counselling, tells them to start talking, figure out how to communicate like the adults they're supposed to be and work out all those uncomfortable feelings. They do it, _and it sucks_ , but maybe it also helps.

Then Marina gifts them Mahler and slowly, the communication and trust that they've been building on the ice begins to creep back into their personal relationship. When they win at SCI and their families cry, she's thrilled. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, but it's not so much from their performance as it is Scott telling the world that they're just so happy to be skating with _each other._ She knows he felt the spark of a moment that happened on the ice, the feeling that they've been chasing finally within reaching distance.

Suddenly, every step in their two year plan (completed or not) has faded away and they're in Vancouver. The compulsory and original dances are under their belt and all that's left between them and a medal is Mahler. The Pacific Coliseum is the loudest venue they've ever competed in and her nerves are jangling with the elevated noise, excitement and expectation levels. Scott must be able to tell, because right before they take the ice, he pulls her into a deep hug and whispers into her ear, _'breath with me.'_  She sinks into his embrace, focuses on the air moving in and out of his lungs as they press against her chest, and a sense of impenetrable calm descends as their breathing syncs up. They remain in the bubble as they skate their warm-up laps, slotting into their starting places as if they are oblivious to the screaming around them.

She breathes in and out in time with the music, his hands make contact with her shoulders, and when she turns to meet his eyes, it's like 2008 all over again. Except this time, they're flying together. Their bodies move in unison, eyes glued to each other as they let the absolute magic of the moment unfold. She knows it's cheesy, but she really can't think of any other way to describe it, and if Scott accidentally ends them facing away from the judges, all she can really do is laugh.

She's still full of breathless laughter as they take their seat in the kiss and cry, and when their score comes in, she finds tears being added to the mix. Scott jumps up with a triumphant whoop, hugs Marina first, and when she finally makes her way into his embrace, she's laughing and crying as she squeaks out "I think we just won the Olympics!" He pulls her in even tighter, fingers digging into her back as he whispers into her ear "I think you're right!" and she knows in her bones that no matter the colour of the medal, they're no longer just okay, they are _great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I write slowly? My spirit animal might as well be a sloth.
> 
> If you want to yell at me, you can find me in the comments, or snoozing over on Tumblr or Twitter at soshedances18.


	3. Canton, Michigan, 2012

It is a truth universally acknowledged that her crush on Scott Moir has existed since, well, the beginning of time? After this many years, she's become an expert at filing her feelings away, packing them tightly into a box marked DO NOT OPEN and shelving it in a section of her brain somewhere between "professionalism" and "maintaining a functioning (business) relationship." But lately the lid on this box seems to have come loose, and the feelings are escaping without her permission. They catch up to her as his fingers dance down her arms and across her waistline, or as she flips backwards onto his shoulders for their rotational lift and all of a sudden his breathe is  _there_ and oh god, this is so unfortunately timed!

She'd like to blame Marina for unleashing this. Between the  _almost_  kiss at the end of their Short Dance, and her stubborn insistence that they skate to nothing but Carmen for their Free  (" _because you are man and woman"_ ) this season might just be her undoing. Of course, it's never a problem when they're skating. On the ice she can hide behind her characters, channelling all of those inconvenient feelings into creating some of the most convincing performances she thinks she's ever given (yes, if you asked her, she'd say they rank right up there with some of her favourite Hollywood actresses). No one else needs to know that when Carmen looks at Don José like she could devour him, at least 80% of that is pure Tessa Virtue Lust™.

It's when they leave the ice that things start to unravel. Marina has decided that in addition to their conditioning and dance training, they will be receiving extra coaching on their acting. At least, that's what she'd called it in their weekly meeting, had said she wanted them to remember how to connect to each other and their characters. Tessa isn't sure why she thinks they're having difficulty with this, but it's the reason she now finds herself planted squarely in front of Scott, trying to avoid eye contact while an overly enthusiastic French-Canadian ballroom teacher lectures them on the importance of chemistry and touch in a partnership.

Scratch that. She knows exactly how they landed here.

\- - -

_Interlude - Canton, Michigan, Summer 2004_

"Now, ending pose. Scott, you spin Tessa away, then reach for her like you cannot bear to be apart. Tessa, you pulled back to Scott, grab his head like you almost kiss, then look away. Yes, okay! We try!"

She stares at Marina. Surely she has to be kidding?

"Tessa, question?"

Yes, actually. She has several questions ( _What were their parents thinking letting them move to Michigan alone? Did they know their new coach was a crazy lady? Kiss Scott? Sorry, almost kiss! Does Marina remember she's only just turned 15? Oh my god, if this is just the compulsory, what is their tango going to look like?),_ but none of them are really appropriate to ask her coach.

"Ye-No... No!" She stammers out, shaking her head. She really hopes Scott hasn't caught on to how flustered she currently is, but a quick glance sideways tells her he's in just as deep.

"Then try!" Marina glares down at her from the boards, as though she's being intentionally difficult about this.

She wonders briefly if it's too late for them to run back to Suzanne, Paul and the safety of Kitchener-Waterloo, where everything was clean cut and family friendly. Instead she pushes out to meet Scott at the centre line and hopes maybe the ice will swallow her whole before she gets there.

Unfortunately, she seems to be out of luck when it comes to instantaneous earth quakes or mysterious black holes, and she makes it to centre ice in one piece. Scott suggests they start from the second repetition of their Blues sequence and she tries her best to stay focused on the task at hand.  _Elbows lifted in the closed hold. Lean deeper into your outside edge here. Match Scott's leg line. Try not to think about kissing Scott. No Tessa, NO! Use your knees more. Make eye contact with Scott as you change holds. Oh, he's blushing, hmmm. C'mon Tess, keep it together!_

Scott lets go of her hand and spins away from her. She completes her rotation, skates back to him as directed by Marina, trying her hardest to look like she is prepared for this moment in anyway whatsoever. Scott meets her eyes, opening his arms to receive her. She reaches for his chest... and promptly trips over her toe pick.

He catches her before she actually hits the ice and she's not sure which one of them starts it, but as he pulls her up to standing, the giggles overtake both of them.

"Jeeze Tess, I know Marina wanted you to be romantic, but there's no need to throw yourself at me!" He jokes, struggling to catch his breath. He's clearly trying to diffuse any remaining tension, but it only makes her laugh harder. "Or are you just falling for my charm?" He follows this one up with a waggle of his eyebrows and oh, she is absolutely done for.

"Enough!" Marina claps. "Try again, just the ending!"

She skates a slow circle away from Scott, externally composes herself enough to please Marina (the inside of her head is a whole other story), then loops back to where he's waiting for her, ignoring the flutter of something in her stomach that feels a whole lot like nerves.

"Tessa, you place right hand on his chest, other behind head." Marina barks out from the boards, "Scott, you pull her in with right arm behind her, left hand on her face, until you are fully touching. Tessa should be on top of your right leg. Yes? Try. Try!"

They manage to work out Marina's instructions so that they are touching in all the correct places, but there's still a solid four inches of space between their faces and she's pretty sure this isn't what Marina was envisioning. Sure enough-

"No, no! Is all wrong! You must look like you want each other! Right now you look stiff, like robot dancers. You must feel the moment - get closer!"

Hearing the feedback, Scott tightens his grip on her back, pulls her up his leg until she is resting on her toe pick and their noses are only a breath apart. Not that she's breathing. Nope. She's scared that if she does, all of her impulse control might fly out the window and she'll do something truly stupid. She's used to being in his personal space, it's an occupational hazard she's learning to live with, but she's never been this close before and her brain is still quietly chanting  _kisskisskisskiss_ in the background.

Marina saves her with the closest thing they'll get to a stamp of approval ( _"better_ ") followed by demanding they start from the beginning. Again, and again, and again. Each time he pulls her a little closer, holds her a little tighter, looks at her a bit longer and she feels herself sliding further down the seemingly inevitable slippery slope that is crushing on Scott Moir.

The thing is, she can't tell if it affects him the same way, doesn't know if his nerve endings also crackle every time they come so close to  _that_  moment at the end. During their water breaks he's no different, is still awkward, gangly (but adorable) Scott with the bad jokes who wants to be everyone's friend. He chatters on about the Detroit Tigers game he went to last week, complains about the slim pickings in the cafeteria at lunch, wonders what the odds are they'll be done early enough on Friday to drive home for the weekend. He acts as though this new choreographic demand has no more impact than Marina asking them to test out a different twizzle sequence, rather than thrusting them into the uncharted territory of incorporating romance into their performance (she suspects that the word seduction might be a better fit, but that comes with a whole lot of baggage that she's not quite ready to unpack).

It's on their last run of the day that it happens. The Blues sequences have become familiar enough that they can start to feel the music, focus on matching expressions and filling out extensions instead of just keeping up. They've made it to their second repetition without Marina or Igor stopping them and she relaxes into the movements, allows herself to really relish the feeling of improvement and enjoyment for the first time since they've arrived in Canton. She catches Scott's eyes as he rotates them out of the step sequence and she sees the same joy reflected back in his expression, along with a hint of something warm that she can't quite place. She doesn't have time to process it though, because they're pulling each other into their ending with slightly more force than usual and all of a sudden she finds that their lips have fully connected. Time stands still for a few seconds as her brain short circuits before she remembers to pull away and drape herself back over Scott's arm.

_Ohhhhh. Okay. That happened. Yup. We kissed. Accidentally. It's cool, it's cool, it's fine. It's not how I pictured it happening, but I can handle it. It's fine. I'm handling it! It doesn't have to mean anything. Right? Right?!_

Her internal pep talk ( _more like panic attack_ ) is interrupted as her brain registers the sound of clapping somewhere in the distance. She allows Scott to pull her up to standing and she doesn't think she's seen him this particular shade of red since he was fourteen and first needed to ask for a "water" break during practice. _Interesting..._ The clapping turns out to be Marina, whose face is split into a genuine smile as they skate towards her, empty hands dangling awkwardly between them.

"Yes! Good! Technique still need work, but you really feel the moment at the end. Must be like this every time! Every time!!!" She punctuates this last part with a vigorous nod, gesturing for both of them to indicate their understanding. When she's sure she has received it, Marina dismisses them for the day and Tessa doesn't think she's ever been happier to bolt to the privacy of the girls change room.

They don't talk about it, but If Scott's equally speedy exit is anything to go by, he's clearly got feelings on the situation too. After a very silent car ride home, Tessa flops face down on her bed and replays the moment in her head on a continuous loop, searching for any sign that it might've been intentional, that he might want or need to talk about it. She doesn't find much, but she clings to that warmth in his eyes and a nearly transparent thread of hope that maybe it felt right to him and maybe it could happen again? Preferably not on the ice and under much clearer circumstances...

She briefly contemplates calling Jordan for input, but decides that the advice is likely not worth the subsequent teasing she'd have to endure. Instead she tosses and turns the night away, and if all of her dreams heavily feature Scott's lips, then that's between her and her pillow.

She arrives at the rink the following morning to find a very chipper Scott chatting away and acting as though nothing has changed ( _ugh, morning people_ ). As Marina sets them to work on their lifts for Adiós Nonino, Tessa decides there's only one feasible strategy for surviving... whatever this is. She can't separate herself from Scott, nor can she force this highly inconvenient crush to disappear, so instead she'll channel it for the greater good. On ice, her uninhibited feelings can exist under the guise of her characters - she can be charming and mysterious, can make an attempt at adding seductive to her vocabulary, can maybe even be a little bit in love with him. If it fits the style and keeps the judges happy, then no one will need to know it's her truth playing out in front of them. Off the ice, those feelings get locked away in a box where they can be ignored in favour of retaining some sense of normalcy with her best friend. The plan is practically foolproof...

\- - -

It turns out, the plan is totally not foolproof.

Tessa thinks she probably should've learned this back in 2004, or really at any point in between. It doesn't matter how she boxes him up or compartmentalises him, Scott's effect on her remains exactly the same.

She's become remarkably good at schooling her face - through tangos and waltzes and stories of young love, through the pain of multiple surgeries and not talking, through the polite conversations with his endless stream of girlfriends who all look just a bit too much like her - she has mastered the art of putting up walls, plastering on a smile and accepting compliments or defeat like she's not currently experiencing an internal emotional hurricane.

Her body, on the other hand, is what always gives her away. Despite her best efforts, she hasn't managed to gain the same level of control over the way it reacts to his presence. After all this time it still only has two modes of response - to freeze in defense, or to utterly betray her and melt into his touch. Both of these have equally damning outcomes. The former is what's landed them in their current situation, and the latter where this is headed with an almost laughable predictability.

In an attempt to fend off developing any further feelings for Scott (while still having his hands all over her body on a daily basis), she's tried desperately to desensitize herself to the power of his touch. The results feel like a flashback to their teenage years, when touching each other with any semblance of romance was awkward and usually entailed plenty of giggling. They follow the instructions given to them, but she doesn't know how to make herself relax into the movements without caving into him as well.

The problem is that over the years she's filed away plenty of evidence as to what happens when she does give in ( _stolen kisses during spin the bottle, tipsy truth or dare during hotel parties, and questionable nights of comfort following a loss_ ), but one of them has always pulled back and stopped just short of crossing that final line. Combined with their moments "in character" on the ice, she feels like she's conducted enough research to write a master's level thesis on the speculation of what sex with Scott Moir might feel like, complete with several very detailed fantasies that she's certain no one but her vibrator needs to know about.

In her defense, she isn't actively pursuing this research project, but apparently that's not exactly working for Marina or their chemistry. Thus, "acting" lessons are now on the agenda, although she thinks a more accurate title might be How to Convincingly Feel Up Your Partner 101.

Scott stands before her as the opening strains of their waltz echo from the speakers, and they're asked to dance through all the transitional elements so that Jean-Marc can assess the severity of the situation he's been asked to correct. They make it all of 16 bars into the music before he's clapping his hands at them to stop.

"No, no, nono, NO! What are you doing? Tessa, you are so stiff, Scott might as well be dancing with a broomstick! You have to respond to his touch, allow the movement to flow through your body. You are better than this!" Scott raises his eyebrows at her in response. "C'mon Tess, we know I much prefer dancing with you to broomsticks and sandbags!"

 _Oh, he thinks he's funny does he_? She wasn't aware they'd reached a point where they could joke about this, and he at least seems to read that cue - as they resume their starting position he murmurs an apology under his breath. She rewards him by actually making eye contact in their next attempt, but it's still not enough to please Jean-Marc, who insists they work through several exercises to reconnect.

There's mirroring and counterbalances and even the good old trust fall ( _he does realize they do more dangerous things on the ice each day, right?_ ), before they get to action and reaction. Scott is instructed to run his hand down the side of her face, and then to allow Tessa to direct the path of movement from there. In theory, he's the one reacting to her, with her leaning into and away from his palm as it travels down her shoulder and arm to her waist. The reality, however, is that he's getting a much bigger rise out of her than she'd liked to admit. Each time they repeat the motion, her heart beats a bit faster and she knows her feeble defense system is crumbling further by the minute. It's just that it's so nice to stop thinking for once and to let herself  _feel_.

Jean-Marc asks them to repeat it one more time, and she finds herself throwing caution to the wind as Scott reaches out and draws her into his space. His fingers trace a feather light path down her right temple as she closes her eyes and allows her head to rest in the palm of his hand. He pauses slightly before continuing along the line of her jaw and allowing his thumb to fall to the dip at the center of her collarbone. As his fingers follow the curve outward to her shoulder, his palm grazes the top of her breast and she knows there's no way he missed the hitch in her breathing. He presses onward, allowing her to direct the weight of his touch down the length of her arm. He reaches her fingers and surprises her by intertwining them before using the hand that's tucked behind her waist to pull her into a loose dance hold.

Her vision feels slightly hazy when she opens her eyes, and he can undoubtedly feel her heart racing in her chest. She meets his gaze and is surprised to find a similar sense of disorientation and wonder on his face, although he replaces it with a smirk so quickly that she could have almost imagined it. Oh yes, he clearly knows  _exactly_ what he's doing, and in that moment the lids are blown clean off each of her carefully archived boxes.

Jean-Marc seems satisfied with their improvement and calls it a day, but not before promising that he'll be back tomorrow to work through Carmen. She catches Scott swallow nervously out of the corner of her eye and immediately knows what her plan will be. She quirks an eyebrow at him and smiles sweetly before walking away, ensuring that she adds an extra sway to her steps as she wishes him a good night over her shoulder.  _Two can play at this game Moir, so why not start now?_

She is fully aware that she is playing with fire, that there is no possible way this will end with her most desired outcome ( _Where he confesses to being madly in love with her and declares that he will never want anyone else, only her - in her dreams this usually happens on ice while he's wearing one of his ridiculous flowing white shirts that make him look a bit like her beloved Mr Darcy_ ). She also knows that there's an extensive laundry list of people who would not approve of her choices ( _Marina, Skate Canada, her mom, Alma, Marina, the ISU, their collective siblings, Marina, Scott's latest on again, off again girlfriend..._ ), but she's so tired of doing the "right" thing, of shutting down almosts and being the good girl who remembers that their skating careers come before everything else. She wants to see just how far she can push him, if she can use Carmen and those well-practiced looks of seduction to finally break his resolve and answer all of her long held questions.

So Tessa cracks open her extensive mental files of research and formulates a plan. It starts with her outfits - a black leotard with a plunging back that she knows he'll have a hard time staying away from - and a little extra attention to her make-up in the morning. She carries this over into her costume design sessions. She's been very clear that she won't wear a flamboyant red, doesn't want to be the stereotypical Carmen, so she asks for all black and a V cut neckline that ends right above the belly button piercing she suspects he'd loved to toy with. It's worth the effort and the pushback from Marina to hear the breath being sucked out of his lungs when he first sees her in their costume fitting. They're still matching mesh to her skin tone, so the front hasn't been lined yet, and she can name the exact moment he catches the glimmer of light reflecting off to the ring she'd  _conveniently_  remembered to put in that day.

On ice and in dance rehearsals, she doesn't filter her emotions any more. She allows her hand to graze over his glutes as they settle into their starting pose, is very intentional with the placement and amount of pressure she gives to each touch in both of their programs. She can be the epitome of sweet, gentle grace in their waltz and polka, but as soon as they switch to Carmen she is nothing but unrestrained lust and anger. She's sure Marina has picked up on at least some trace of her plan, but aside from the occasional raised eyebrow when a hand drifts too far, she hasn't heard any further complaints about their lack of connection.

As for Scott, he gives as good as he gets, but it takes a lot longer than she anticipated for him to reach the tipping point. He strains his neck at the end of September, forcing them to withdraw from their first competition of the season and pull back on their training for a week. This leaves them both with a surplus of frustration and anxious energy by the time they reach Skate Canada International, which will now become the site of the first Carmen versus Carmen showdown of the season.

They skate their short dance relatively well, with only one visibly awkward moment during their rotational lift. They've been paying attention to the competition though, and she suspects that the judges won't like that their program is structured with more waltz than polka. Scott isn't happy with himself, and as they sit in the kiss & cry, there's little reassurance to be found from either Marina or Johnny. When the numbers come in, they're only 0.01 ahead of Anna and Luca, and she feels the bottom drop out of her stomach. Scott's scratching his head with that nervous tell of his which says their technical scores are lower than he'd like, and she is not okay with the fact that things are already this close when they're on home soil.

Tension remains high throughout the evening, so when Scott suggests they walk through their free dance in his hotel room, she doesn't bat an eyelash at the idea. Clearly they're going to need all the practice they can get, but Marina doesn't seem to have a lot to say and Tessa wants to do whatever it takes to maintain the lead. She doesn't spare a thought for her ongoing plan, it's now routine for her to push his limits and despite being clad in a tank top and sweats, she slips seamlessly into character.

Their quarters are somewhat cramped and it doesn't give them much room to rehearse any of their major elements. They have to settle for walking through all of the transitional, character driven moments, which does absolutely nothing to diffuse the tension or raw nerves. If anything, it only fuels them and by their third run, Tessa feels as though they could actually be Carmen and Don José, locked in a battle of passion and will power. The lust she's feeling is decidedly less Carmen and more Tessa, but Scott is matching her look for look, and when she wraps her legs around his waist in a mock of their final lift, she's only moderately surprised to find him rock hard beneath her.

She freezes as she meets his gaze and  _oh... they're finally here_. She maintains the piercing eye contact as she releases her legs and slowly slides down the front of his body, gently rolls her hips into his and that's all it takes for him to snap. He captures her lips in a crushing kiss that puts all of their previous encounters to shame, backs her across the room until she falls onto the bed and he falls into her. From there, it's a blur of tangled limbs and stolen breathes as they each wrestle for control. He pauses only once, to check that this is really what she wants, and although she never truly envisioned these to be the circumstances, she finds that her answer is still a resounding yes ( _Because honestly, she wants anything and everything when it comes to him, but she manages not to say that out loud because she thinks it just might scare him away_ ).

Afterwards, as she snuggles into his side and he drifts easily off to sleep, she's slammed with the realization that her plan didn’t extend this far. She didn't account for the possibility that they might get to this moment without talking about it and she has absolutely no idea what to say when he wakes. She tosses and turns as she tries to predict and prepare for every plausible scenario, comes to terms with the fact that sleep is not likely on the agenda tonight, and then she feels a soothing arm wrap around her waist.

Scott pulls her into his chest, murmurs into her hair, "you're so damn restless T. Go to sleep!" And well, she can't exactly argue with that can she? Safely ensconced in his hold, she gives herself over to sleep and ignores the uneasy sensation that maybe she’s been in this position before.

When Tessa wakes in the morning, he's already up and gone, despite this being his hotel room. He greets her at breakfast as though nothing has changed, and then Marina keeps them so busy that they don't get more than 30 seconds alone prior to their skate. She manages to stay out of her head ( _mostly_ ), and while it's not their best performance, she thinks they definitely got the dynamics of their characters down. He kisses her on the forehead as they emerge from their ending pose, wraps her up in his arms, keeps her pulled firmly into his side as they leave the ice and she literally has no idea what to make of it. They land safely in first, winning by a little over nine points and she finds herself thinking that no matter which way this situation goes, it's going to be a long fucking season ( _or vice versa_ ).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another month, another chapter... this one kind of ran away from me!
> 
> Internet points for those who can catch the references to a few of my favourite authors ;)
> 
> As always, I appreciate hearing from you in the comments, or you can find me on Tumblr or Twitter as soshedances18


	4. London, Ontario, 2013

Tessa doesn't remember the last time she was this tired. She's used to physically exerting herself, that's part of her daily life, but she doesn't recall ever being so emotionally and mentally drained, even when she was injured. The whole start to this season has been an uphill battle, and she would like nothing more than to hibernate for the next few weeks and possibly never think about skating again. Except she doesn't get to make that choice just yet, because like always, her life is tied to his and so they have to decide. Together.

She pours herself a glass of wine and buries herself under a blanket, snuggling deep into the corner of her couch. It's the middle of November and they should be at Arctic Edge, bumping up the intensity of their training in preparation for GPF, Nationals and the ever looming Olympics. Instead, she'd been in her car within two hours of their return from France and back over the border in record time, determined to get away from Canton as quickly as possible. They had agreed that they needed a few days off to refocus before plowing ahead. Well, she's not sure that Marina necessarily _agreed_ , but she also doesn't think she will bemoan their absence at this point.

This has been an ongoing sore spot for Tessa, and it's one she thinks that maybe Scott is ( _finally_ ) beginning to recognize as well. She can count on one hand the number of times that they've yelled at each other in the 16 years they've been skating together, and their blowout at the end of last season is at the top of that list.

If the rawness of Carmen had been an exercise in how far they could push each other's limits, then skating to Hallelujah at each gala had been a prayer for grace and forgiveness. Mostly from each other, but after losing Worlds at home, it had felt like an apology to an entire nation for a season of trying their damn hardest, but still always being second best. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and one that had ultimately gotten the better of both of them.

In the aftermath of the loss, Tessa had begged Scott to consider making a change. She knew it was a stretch, that it was an incredibly risky thing to do at the beginning of an Olympic season, but she couldn't fathom how staying at Arctic Edge would possibly do them any good. It was clear to her that Marina's attentions had shifted and she no longer had their best interests at heart ( _some days she wonders if she ever did to begin with_ ). If they wanted to win, then staying in Canton would be crossing their fingers and hoping for a miracle at best.

After all this time, she's built a solid understanding of how to calmly argue with Scott ( _and usually, win_ ) - when he didn't respond to her emotional appeal, she had changed her approach, resorted to attacking with hard facts and rational alternatives. They hadn't outscored Meryl and Charlie once in the entire season, were always at least three points behind them. The numbers spoke for themselves, and Marina had been of little assistance in trying to find ways to close the gap. What made him think this season would be any different? She offered a solution and suggested they call Patrice and Marie-France, see if they would be willing to take them on, or at the very least offer them some advice on how to proceed. She knew how much he looked up to Patch, and had secretly hoped that maybe hearing his take on the situation might sway him towards leaving (she had already reached out to them on her own, just to make sure the option was even on the table, but he didn't need to know that just yet).

The other important thing that she'd learned about Scott over the years is that if nothing else, he is incredibly loyal, sometimes to a fault. He'd shown it with his hometown pride in every kiss and cry, had demonstrated it to her over and over again in the period of recovery and retraining following her second surgery. Time and again he had chosen their partnership over everything else, so she had believed that even if it took every last shred of energy she had to convince him, this argument would be no different.

It turns out she was wrong. His loyalty extended past her and into the roots they had put down over the last ten years, which seemed to include Marina, regardless of whether the sentiment was returned. Tessa had been speechless, couldn't understand how he still had faith in their coaches after the way they had been treated this season. Her stunned silence had left a gap in the conversation for him to fill, and fill it he did. With finger pointing and a refusal to acknowledge consequences or accept blame which went far beyond anything that she had ever witnessed from him. The more he spoke, the angrier she became, with the volume of his rant increasing until finally she had snapped and screamed in return.

She winces at the memory and takes a long pull of her wine. It had not been one of her finest moments, but she will admit that the rush of unleashing all her pent up emotions had been exactly what she'd needed as part of the post-Worlds grieving process. It had taken them a full month of therapy to work through the aftermath, and those were only the parts they were actually willing to speak about ( _because yeah, they're definitely not acknowledging the effect that an entire season of Carmen has had on their maybe-more-than-friendship_ ). Somewhere along the way she had acquiesced to his desire to stay in Canton, although she's not sure it was so much a conscious choice as an unwillingness to inflict any further damage to a relationship that was already dangling by a thread.

So here they are. Three competitions into the season and she's experiencing a strong sense of déjà vu as their scores fail to measure up by an even wider margin. She knows Marina isn't solely to blame here, their skating is a very large part of how things are panning out, but they just can't seem to connect to their free dance choreography or to each other. The worst part is, now their failure is being captured daily on film for the world to see. Because at some point, her sleep deprived brain thought that agreeing to participate in a "documentary" ( _poorly edited reality TV show_ ) about their preparations for the Olympics might somehow counter the narrative that the ISU is set on propagating. They are no longer the "future of ice dance" or the small town heroes, instead they're being painted as one half of a bitter rivalry who have already had their moment of glory and it's pretty clear that in their case, lightening won't be allowed to strike twice.

She's drawn out of her daze by a sharp knock at the front door, followed by the sound of keys in the lock. She doesn't stir from her spot, just turns to acknowledge his presence as an equally weary looking Scott makes his way down the hall and into her kitchen.

"Wine?" She raises her glass and gestures to the bottle of red sitting next to an empty glass on the island. She knows she won't be getting through this conversation without a little liquid courage, figures she might as well extend one final courtesy to him before she potentially sinks whatever remains of this funny, indefinable relationship.

"Yeah," Scott breathes out as he picks up the bottle, "definitely." Pouring himself a generous glass, he returns the stopper to the bottle before carrying both down the few steps to join her on the couch. "What's the occasion Virtch? Must be serious if we're day drinking."

She can hear the attempted humour in his voice, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes as he sets the bottle down on the table. She takes note of the dark circles underneath them and wonders if their source is the same anxiety and sleepless nights she's been experiencing lately. He's been so guarded around her since their blowout in April ( _let's be real, it's not like she's been an open book either)_ that she finds it strangely comforting to see any hint that he shares in the weight of this exhaustion with her.

Despite having had two full days to herself to ponder the subject, Tessa still doesn't know how, or where, to begin this conversation. How do you tell the person whose body often feels like an extension of your own that you no longer want to skate with them? Or at all for that matter. She thinks that it might be easier if her shins were betraying them again, rather than the reverberating aftershocks from years of politics and mind games finally catching up to her. She finds herself staring into her wine glass, hoping the answer will materialize within its contents. The couch shifts with Scott's weight as he settles in across from her, and she feels a gentle touch to her calf.

"Hey T, you still with me?" She winces internally at his choice of words. _This is going to go SO well..._

"Yeah, I'm just so..." She pauses, trying to find the right word to encapsulate everything she's currently feeling.

"Tired?" He supplies.

"That's one way of putting it. Exhausted? Overwhelmed? Ready to crawl under a rock and hide for a few centuries?" She goes to take another sip of her wine, trying to buy herself more time, and finds the glass is mysteriously empty. Placing it aside, she fiddles with the blanket in her lap, studiously avoiding eye contact. She knows the second it happens, it will be game over for her emotional control.

She feels another hand reach out to join the one already touching her leg, but instead it creeps forward to stop her anxious fidgeting. He flips her palm over, places his left hand on top before gathering them both in his right and squeezing.

"Are you ever going to look at me?" She can hear the concern in his voice, but not the irritation that has been frequently present as of late. Taking a deep breath, she lifts her eyes from their joined hands to his face and exhales as she finds his expression completely open. Gone are the walls that they've both been gradually building, and she sees the frustration, pain and fatigue she's been feeling mirrored back at her.

"Hi" He gives her a reassuring smile.

"Hi" She joins her free hand on top of his, squeezing in return.

"Will you talk to me now?" He keeps their hands linked and she knows he's attempting to ground her, to keep both of them calm and connected, just like their pre-skate ritual. She tries to summon up the power of that liquid courage she so quickly downed, but she's not really sure where it went.

"I'm trying. It's just... finding the right words is really hard? I don't want to pick the wrong ones and not say what I mean, because you mean a lot and this means a lot and I want to get it right and make sure you don't misunderstand me and I'mscaredyoumightbeangryatme and-"

"Woah Tess, slow down for a second!" Her eyes have drifted back to where their hands are joined. He's now rubbing gentle circles along the tops of her knuckles and despite her best efforts, she feels a hot tear sliding down her face. "Take deep breath and try again. I promise whatever it is, I'll hear you out."

"I...  I... I don't want to skate anymore." She grits it out, and it's barely louder than a whisper, but she knows he's heard her by the feeling of his entire body tensing beneath her hands and then... releasing? She hears him let out a long breath and even though she knows there's no stopping the steady trickle of tears are escaping, she forces herself to meet his eyes.

"Okay." She's shocked to see something resembling understanding looking back at her. "That's okay. If we're being honest Tess, and I never thought I'd be at this point, I don't want to skate either."

She's fairly certain she now has a death grip on his hands, because of all the possible outcomes she'd prepared for in this conversation, she hadn't dared to hope that he would give in this easily, never entertained the prospect that he might be just as done with the whole thing.

"Scott," she pauses as her heart lurches a bit, because this is the part she's really worried that he won't hear, "before we talk about this any further, can I just make it very clear that this is not about you? I think I will always want to be on the ice with your hand in mine. Even if we're so old and arthritic that we can barely tie our own skates, that will be what I want. But I can't think about that, and deal with all of this," she lets go of his hands to gesture to the air around them, "at the same time."

She hopes he'll recognize exactly what 'this' includes. That he'll know she means the bullshit that they've put up with from Marina, the awful flaws in the ISU's ever-changing judging system, and the unkind rumours she hears in the press and online. She doesn't consider herself to be religious, but she prays that he can separate his feelings about their skating from whatever feelings he may ( _or may not_ ) have about her. She's tried to stop herself from envisioning any post-skating future with him as a different type of partner, because she also knows that there is (or was, the details are a little hazy) another lookalike girlfriend in the picture and she won't allow herself to assume that her dreams match up to his.

Miraculously, her prayer doesn't fall upon deaf ears and she sees him nodding in agreement.

"Yes. Yes. I will always want to skate with you too, even when we're old and decrepit, but can we... uhhh, can we maybe table that conversation for later?" He's scratching the back of his head and she catches a glimpse of a blush working its way up his neck that probably shouldn't be attributed to the glass of wine now in his right hand. _Okay, interesting. Definitely more "was" than "is" then._

"Of course." She finds herself blushing slightly as well, so maybe it is the wine after all? That seems like a plausible explanation. It's not due to the sparks of electricity that they haven't been able to shake since Carmen ended, nor the memories of skin on skin and the thought that with time and patience, that could eventually become their normal. _There's NO way it's a side effect of thinking about how that conversation might play out..._

His hand on her knee brings her back to the present, and she interweaves their fingers as she asks "so what happens now?" It's a genuine question, but she suspects she already knows the answer. She's trying to extend him the same support he gave her earlier, hoping the connection will keep him from freezing over as they stumble through logistics.

"First of all, T, I owe you an apology. Not just for the unkind things I said, but for not listening to you back in April. I wanted so badly to believe that you were wrong, that we weren't being pushed aside after so many years of loyalty, and I think I kinda stuck my head in the sand and refused to hear the truth. Because at this point it's clear to me that it was all true, and I'm so sorry that it took this long for me to be able to see that. I just don't know how we go about fixing it, or if we even want to? Have we passed the point of no return?" Scott manages to pry his eyes away from their joined hands as he asks that question, and she hums in acknowledgement as he looks at her.

"Thank you. For hearing me, even if it does feel like it's too late. I appreciate that you were able to say it." She knows she's slipped into her therapy voice, but she's also stroking her thumbs across his knuckles, so hopefully he knows it's genuine. "And, I don't know if we've passed that point yet, but given that we've both said we don't want to skate any more, I think we're veering dangerously close. The real question is, do we want to stop here? We have the Final, Nationals and the Olympics left... there's also Worlds to consider."

He wrinkles his nose at the thought. "That feels... a lot like giving up? After everything we've endured to get to this point, walking away in the middle of the season, never mind an Olympic one, doesn't sound like us."

"No," she agrees, "it really doesn't. So we stick it out? But maybe not Worlds? We could also skip out on the Final as well..."

"Still doesn't feel right. Could we keep the Final, but agree that Worlds are out?" They've both stopped fidgeting, but she keeps their hands intertwined as they negotiate.

"Sure," she concedes, "so we continue through the Final, Nationals and the Olympics. Which means we need a plan..." She feels him relax ever so slightly into the couch, likely assuming that the worst is over. "What do we do next?"

"Next as in the plan? Or next as in next in life?" He prompts, looking at her thoughtfully as she tucks herself back into her blanket cocoon.

"Next as in the plan." _Because what comes next in life is a loaded question that I haven't had enough wine to answer_ ,  she thinks.

"Well. I think we start by being honest with each other from now on, especially when it comes to how we're feeling about skating. Bottling that up clearly isn't working for us so far." She nods in agreement. "Then we need to look at building a support network outside of Marina - it's too late to make a change in coaches, but that doesn't mean we can't seek help from other people. We've already got Jean-Marc..."

She peers at him over her freshly refilled wine glass, "Patrice and Marie-France?"

He scratches nervously at his jaw line, "I might have called Patch when we got back from France..."

"I'm sure he wasn't entirely surprised..." Scott looks at her strangely, and she remembers she hadn't been fully truthful in the midst of their previous fight. "I might have called them over the summer. Just to see what opportunities were available." His eyes light up as he fits the puzzle pieces together.

"Ahh, yes, that would explain a few things. Turns out there's not much they can officially do without getting Skate Canada involved, and we both know how messy that would be. I doubt they'd even allow it and I don't relish the idea of explaining it to Marina." She cringes as she considers that theoretical conversation. "Patch will be in Sochi with the Spanish team, if we need anything in terms of informal support, he can be there for us as well."

"I suppose that's a start then - we prioritize clear communication, and we seek outside help in terms of support and improvement. Which leaves just one question..." She stalls for a second, but she knows that this is going to need to be said, whether it's now or in February. "After the Olympics, if we're not planning to skate anymore, are we... retiring?"

She sees the colour draining from his face, so she presses onwards. "I mean, we still have tours lined up. That would take us through to the beginning of the summer... We don't have to make a decision right now." She's quickly backpedaling, worried that she has actually reached the tipping point in this conversation where things start to inevitably sink.

"I think..." He draws a deep breath and lets it out again. "I think that sounds like a very permanent decision that maybe shouldn't be made when we're feeling as burnt out and frustrated as we currently do. Don't they say something about not making big decisions around major life events?"

"Scott, It's okay. We don't have to make that call right now. Maybe we work it into our plan instead? We agree that we both need a break, but you're right, that could change. We can use the time between the Olympics and touring to decompress and then re-evaluate." She can see his panic starting to fade, but doesn't want to analyze where it came from in the first place. "Why don't we keep checking in with each other on how we're feeling? If we get to a point where even show skating no longer feels like it's fulfilling or fun, then we agree to consider retirement an official option? In the mean time, we're just taking a break."

"A break..." he repeats, as if testing how it sounds, "yeah, I think that could work."

"So to recap," she wants to make sure they both have this clear. "We finish the season, except for Worlds, then we take a break. We agree to keep checking in with each other, and to work on being open in our communication in all areas. We're also going to build a support network to help us get through Sochi, which includes Patch and Marie, as well as finding others outside of Canton. Is that all?"

"Yeah, that sounds like it covers it. Speaking of which, I'm cold, so I think it's about time you come over here and share that blanket with me!" He gestures to the cushion beside him, the beginnings of a genuine smile curling at his lips. She tucks herself easy into his side, covers them both with the blanket and snuggles closer as he wraps his arm around her. Despite the heavy conversation that they've just waded through, she feels lighter than she has in months.

"Scott?" He hums in return. "One more thing..."

"Yes?" He pulls her in a little tighter, gives her side an encouraging squeeze.

"If we're doing this, then I think we need to shift our motivations. I'm not saying we give up on the concept of winning, or aim for anything less than our best, but I think we have to stop setting the gold as our only marker of success."

He shifts slightly to face her, his eyebrows knit together in a frown, "but If we're not in it for the medal-"

She cuts him off before he can get started, allows herself to channel just a bit of the rage she's been feeling towards the universe into this final statement. "We have to do it for each other. At this point, we both know that even with our best efforts, it's still likely be silver. So screw everyone else - if they don't want to help us fight, then they don't deserve to be given the credit for motivating us. We focus on each other, on having fun, and on actually enjoying the experience this time. If that's what we aim for, then we can't really lose." It won't take much to top Vancouver, she thinks, because at least this time she might see more than just the inside of her room or the bottom of a physio table.

"Just us then..."

She can see him mulling it over, adjusting his world view by a few degrees. They don't often intentionally use their key words off ice, but she can't help but follow through with "Just us, together."

"Always." He responds softly, pulling her back under his arm, and for the first time in months, she feels a sense of peace wash over her.

\- - -

That sense of peace lasts through their return to Canton, where they slowly begin to form a bubble around themselves. They dig deep into making changes, taking their own time to review score sheets, pick apart recordings and search for any points they might have missed and could gain in the future. Their connection is deeper than it has been in years, and she can feel it beginning to seep into their Free Dance. While it's still not the program that they want it to be, it's starting to belong to them, to be a reflection of all of the effort that they've put in to getting this far.

Her feelings are confirmed when they set a world record score at the Grand Prix Final. Meryl and Charlie break it moments later, but it's the closest their scores have been in two years, and she takes it as an affirmation that they are on the right track. They double down, tighten their bubble even further and hope that if anything, they can keep the margin that tight going into the games.

They sail through Nationals, trying to savour each moment - despite not telling anyone, there's still plenty of talk about this season being their last. They dodge as many questions as possible about what life might look like after the games are finished, citing that they are only focused on the Olympics and redirecting to how excited they are and what an honour it is to represent their country at such a high level for a second time.

News of a rumoured judging scandal breaks shortly before they leave for Russia, but at this point, all they can do is shrug and pretend they have faith left in the system. If there was a scandal regarding their scores, then it had been a long running one - there wasn't much left to get worked up over now.

The cracks in the bubble begin to form when Marina marches in the opening ceremonies with Meryl and Charlie. Tessa can't help but feel betrayed by what looks like an open demonstration of  choosing sides, but she shoves it down and focuses on the team event. The cracks become deeper as she watches Marina's attention drifting during practices, but true to his word, Patch is never far away with a reassuring glance or a quiet compliment at the ready.

The joy of standing on the podium at the team event feels like a temporary salve being spread across the slow burn of a building pain. For one night she is distracted from the inevitable, allows herself to be warmed by the company of her teammates for whom silver is a genuine victory. She knows that for some of them, this may be the only Olympic medal that they ever win, so who is she to spoil their party?

A week later, they prepare to take the ice for their individual short dance. She draws on that warmth and support from their teammates, from the encouragement of mentors in unexpected places ( _who knew Mike Babcock cared about ice dance?)_ and the energy of family members who have been along for the entire wild ride. But mostly she zones in on Scott, who has been pretty much attached to her at the hip since they landed in Sochi. True to their word, they've done everything possible to enjoy the entire experience and as they fold themselves into their now infamous hug, she determines that tonight should be no different.

 _Just Us. Together. Nobody else matters. This is_ _for us._

The next three minutes are everything she's dreamed. It's that elusive feeling that they've been chasing since their first world medal - the flow of movement, the complete sense of connection, the pure uninhibited bliss of skating from the heart. _The feeling of flying_. Scott looks as ecstatic as she feels, bursting from their ending pose into a happy dance before twirling her around in a hug. If the screaming in the arena is anything to go by, their scores should be the best of the season.

Except they're not. They're second, and there's nothing they can do but shake their heads and keep a smile plastered on their faces as they leave the kiss & cry for the mosh pit of media that awaits. She knew this was what they were up against, but facing the reality of it is becoming more difficult by the minute. She's fighting hard to maintain her focus and their bubble. She'd half expected it to pop entirely when the scores came in, but instead she finds it's more like being on a ship you know is doomed to sink - you can keep patching up the holes ( _the way they have been for the past three months_ ) but at the end of the day it's still going down.

The Free Dance brings more of the same. She gathers her resolve, calls on the strength of those around her to make up for what she's lacking and tells herself to pull it together. _You're a still a goddamn Olympic Champion Virtue, you've already won two medals. Now act like it!_ Scott is extra attentive, which means he is never more than a metre away and is in peak touchy-feely mode. A light graze of her lower back guiding her through the venue, a calming hand on her knee as they tie their skates, fingers threaded together as they wait, and wait, and wait, and then the enveloping comfort of their hug. Hearts beating in sync, they take the ice.

_We've got this. This is our moment. Only Us. I Love You._

Scott's eyes barely leave her, and his off ice touching has melted into gentle kisses throughout the program - her knuckles, the back of her hand, a brush of her cheek, hovering over her lips. He is entirely there for her. She gives in, reciprocates to the best of her ability and soaks in every moment. They leave the ice to the sound of the crowd chanting their names, Scott diving for the boards the same way he did in Vancouver. They set a world record score, but like the Final, they know that barring a major tragedy, it will be broken moments later.

There is no unexpected drama though, and as Meryl and Charlie get their moment in the spotlight, she can't help but feel a mix of emotions wash over her. She's happy for the pair that were once their friends, but the overwhelming feeling is relief. Relief that this is finally over, that there's no more guess work left to do. They will leave Sochi with two silver medals in their luggage, and 16 years of a partnership behind them. There's gratitude mixed in there as well, for her family, for their mentors, and of course for Scott. She knows in her heart that she's done now, that this is it for her, but that's a conversation for later.

\- - -

Later takes longer than she expected to arrive. It doesn't happen that night, after drinking a little ( _or a lot_ ) too much and crashing into Scott's arms and then into bed. Their remaining time in Sochi is a whirlwind of cheering on Kaetlyn and Gabby, screaming themselves hoarse at hockey games and curling matches, dancing the night away in Canada House and not worrying about the repercussions on their training. They see less of each other as the week progresses, and all of a sudden their gala skate to Stay feels a lot more relevant than she would like it to be.

Later still doesn't arrive when they are cooped up for hours on the flight back to Canada, nor does it appear as they clean out their apartments in Canton, stealing into Arctic Edge while they know Marina is away to pick up their odds and ends. It eludes her on the drive back to London, when she finds herself inexplicably emotional as they cross the border and Scott silently takes her hand across the console.

Later stays true to its word, always lurking just out of reach. She chases it through the painstaking media blitz, through talks of sponsorship deals and university transfer applications. By the time she catches it, April is on the horizon and Scott seems to have caught up to a whole lot more ( _not that he's told her about Kaitlyn yet, but she's seem the pictures and heard the rumours_ ). She hasn't seen him for more than 15 minutes at a time in what feels like eons, but has probably only been two weeks.

Later finally finds them when they're holed up in a hotel room in Montréal, exhausted after an entire day spent trying to piece together a show program with Marie-France. They refuse to tour with Seasons or Dream a Little Dream, which says enough in and of itself, but that doesn't mean she can avoid this conversation any longer. Scott's clearly moving on, she's making plans for school in the fall, it's time to bite the bullet and get it over with.

"Scott," she nudges him out of his daze from the opposite end of the sofa.

He groans in return. "What kiddo? Can't you see I'm kind of busy dying over here? Please remind me never to take two months off of skating again..."

"Scott," she repeats, a warning tone creeping into her voice, "we need to talk." That gets his attention and he hauls himself upright, looking much more concerned than she expected. _He should really be able to see this one coming..._

"We promised we would keep checking in with each other, especially now that we've had a break. So, this is me, checking in..." _Smooth Virtue, reallllll smooth._

"Oh. Right." She watches as his brow furrows. "I guess we have to talk about it, don't we?"

"Yeah," she sighs, "it would seem we do. We've only been putting it off for nearly two months. If we don't talk now, then you know it won't happen until after tour-"

"And I know you well enough at this point to know that you need to be able to plan beyond June." He's staring at her as he interjects, but he hasn't made a move from his end of the couch.

"Right." She concedes, "so I guess the question is the same as it was last fall - do we stop here? are we done after tour season ends?"

He breaks eye contact, and her stomach drops, because if she knows anything about Scott from their years of therapy, it's that he won't look you in the eye when things get difficult or emotional. _She doesn't want to question why she feels this sensation when she's certain his answer will be-_

"Yes." He says it so quietly she almost doesn't hear it. "If that's what you want as well, then yes." She watches him deflate as he says it, and all of a sudden she sees just how exhausted he is, not from their workout today, but from fighting to keep up the emotional front the same way she has since they stepped off the podium in Sochi.

"Okay," she wants so badly to reach out, to extend some form of physical comfort, but she restrains herself and aims for a verbal peace offering instead. "We don't have to make it official? No big announcement or anything... We can just stick with the original plan and call it a break?"

"Sure. We keep checking in too, right?" He manages to find her eyes again, and she's pretty sure there might be tears hovering close to his lashes.

"Yes Scott, we keep checking in, and you know, we might even be able to try this whole being friends thing? It’s this foreign concept where we do more than just freeze our asses off at the crack of dawn and break our bodies in the name of athletic success?" She tries to crack a smile to go with her joke, mostly for her own benefit, because a crying Scott is one of her ultimate weaknesses and she knows if she lets him go, she'll become a blubbering mess too.

It works well enough, and he returns a small smile. They sit in silence for a moment, each wrapped up in their own thoughts on their own ends of the sofa.

"Hey Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that no matter what, I love you, right?" _She's baring a bit of her soul here, but she doesn't dare assume he's going to catch it._

"Hey Tess?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank You."

 _It's not exactly an 'I Love You too', but for now it's enough. It will have to be enough_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first chunk of this chapter before my copy of the updated book arrived, so if some of my timeline is now off, I'm calling it artistic license. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians!
> 
> Not sure how I feel about leaving this on an angsty note, but it's 2014, so what's a girl to do? As always, you can yell at me in the comments, or on tumblr/twitter at soshedances18!


	5. London, Ontario, 2015

Sleep is an elusive creature these days, which is how Tessa finds herself sinking into the bath at an hour when she'd really rather not be awake. Her fingers are crossed in hopes that the combination of heat and lavender bath salts will finally lull her over the edge and allow her to drift off once safely back in her bed. She's always been the unfortunate combination of a night owl and a light sleeper, something that has never worked well with early morning ice times. Except that now she doesn't have to worry about being at the rink at the crack of dawn, she finds she's seeing the ugly side of 3am more often than not.

It's not that her schedule isn't busy. In her standard overachieving fashion, she has fully committed to this whole 'Year of Yes' concept and then some. She's filled her days with sponsorship meetings and speaking engagements, has loaded on three full university courses for the winter semester and recently agreed to try her hand at designing a jewelry line. She goes shopping with Jordan, has regular coffee dates with her mom, and tries to make up for lost time with friends she'd usually see twice a year. With the hours left in between, she continues her Pilates routine and physiotherapy, takes up running, adds hip hop and contemporary dance classes to try to burn off the excess energy she feels constantly accumulating. At the end of the day, she still finds herself tossing and turning, unable to settle at the feeling that something is missing and constantly just out of reach.

She doesn't want to dwell on what that something ( _or someone_ ) is, tries to remember that she made a deliberate decision to centre this year around herself. Instead she chooses to focus on her breathing, taking in the lavender scent rising with the steam and trying to clear her mind of all distractions. She's half way through her search for inner peace, visualizing her rogue thoughts as puffy clouds floating away into the distance, when she's rudely interrupted by the ping of a text notification from the bathroom counter.

 _Who the hell sends a text at 3am?_ She's sorely tempted to ignore it, but the chime rings two more times and she resigns herself to climbing out of her cozy oasis to retrieve it. Pulling a fluffy white towel from the rack, she expertly twists it around her torso before picking up the offending phone.     

> _Scott Moir, 3:01am - Hey Tess?_
> 
> _Scott Moir, 3:02am - T?_
> 
> _Scott Moir, 3:03am - you awake?_

What. No. She is most definitely NOT awake. She could ignore him until the morning, it wouldn't be the worst crime she's committed, but what if it's an emergency?   

> _Tessa Virtue, 3:05am - No._
> 
> _Tessa Virtue, 3:07am - Scott, have you seen the time? Why are you texting me in the middle of the night?_
> 
> _Scott Moir, 3:08am - T-Bone! So you are awake!_
> 
> _Scott Moir, 3:09am - Oh Shit. It's three am. SHIT._
> 
> _Scott Moir, 3:09am - Would now be a good time to tell you I'm standing on your porch?_

What. The. Fuck.       

> _Tessa Virtue, 3:10am - You have EXACTLY two minutes to think of a good explanation for this before I come downstairs and open the door._

She calmly places the phone down on the counter, walks into her room and immediately faceplants onto her bed. She muffles a frustrated scream with one of her many decorative pillows, before throwing them haphazardly to the side in a minimal attempt to make it look slept in. She then sets about finding her pajamas and a housecoat before pocketing her phone and heading for the stairs.

Flicking on lights as she goes, she arrives at the door precisely two minutes later to discover that Scott Moir is indeed standing on her front porch. He at least has the decency to look shameful as she opens the door, wincing as the chilly air whips through the house.

"In." She gestures to the hall.

"Nice to see you too," he grumbles, trudging into the entryway as she latches the door behind him.

"Nice to see you is for hours after sunrise with a coffee in hand." She turns to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is the middle of the night, so I'd try for something a little closer to 'Hi Tessa, I'm sorry for waking you up by showing up on your doorstep at 3am like the ultimate creeper after a full month of radio silence.'” She cocks an eyebrow at him, waiting impatiently for any sign of remorse.

He's scuffing at the carpet runner with the toe of his boot, avoiding eye contact as he appears to search for a response. She uses the moment to her advantage, taking stock of the man standing before her. She can smell the whisky leaking from his pores, as well as a few wafts of what she imagines is likely cigarette smoke. The bags under his eyes are worse than they were before Sochi, and she can see the faint scruff of a five o'clock shadow fighting to form around the edges of his jaw. _It's only been a month since our last holiday performance, how the hell did he manage to fall apart this quickly? Where was Kaitlyn in all of this?_

"Why are you here Scott?" She's gentle with her tone this time, can sense she's likely going to have to coax this out of him.

"Because I missed you?" He sounds like a little kid who knows he's gotten himself in trouble and is hoping to take the easy way out.

"Nope. Try again Moir. If you're going to force me out of bed at this hour for whatever this is, you're going to have to do better than that."

"God, Tess. I'm sorry," he scrubs at his face before finally locking eyes with her. "I didn't realize it was so late. Or early. I don't really know. I'm sorry okay?" He looks like he's been crying as well, and she is not equipped to handle overemotional (and definitely more than tipsy) Scott with so little sleep.

She eyes him up and down one more time before she caves ( _future Tessa is going to resent her so much for this_ ). "Apology heard and accepted. Now, are we having whatever this all-important conversation is here, or in a more civilised setting?"

He looks around, only just seeming to register that they're still standing in the hall. She sees his eyes widen as they flicker across her pajamas and she fixes him with a very pointed stare as he starts toeing off his boots. When he finally sheds his jacket, she silently turns and begins the process of shuttering lights as she heads for the stairs.

"Tessa, where are you-"

"Nope. Upstairs, no talking. In fact, you'd do best to keep your mouth shut until you've showered, sobered up and had a chance to think about what your next words are going to be. You're not sitting on any of my furniture while you smell like the sad back corner of Molly Blooms on a Monday night."

"Bossy," he mumbles. She pretends for his benefit that she didn't hear him, pointing him in the direction of the bathroom with strict instructions not to emerge until he's pulled himself together.

She feels like she's scolding a teenager, rather than her skating partner of 17 years, but if that's how he wants to behave then she guesses that's the treatment he deserves. Hearing the shower water run, she turns her attention to digging out a pair of his sweats and an old shirt from the depths of her closet. She'd thrown the boxes back there sometime after their final return from Canton, and she hasn't been able to bring herself to deal with the contents. Thankfully, she finds what she's searching for on the first try, and leaves the clothing pile outside the bathroom with a quiet knock at the door. 

She returns to her room to see the clock now blinking 3:55am and stifles a groan of mourning for her precious moments of lost sleep. Of all of the people in her life, Scott should know better than to do this to her. Except this train wreck of a human being is clearly not her Scott, and he's got a lot of explaining to do.

She tucks herself under the covers as the bathroom door creaks open. She also faintly registers the sound of a draining bathtub. _Shit._ Scott appears moments later, his brows knit together in confusion.

"T, your bathtub was full of water. Like, hot water? Wait, were you not really asleep? Why are you so mad at me if you weren't actually asleep?"

She fixes him with the same stare as earlier. "Scott. Do you really want to test my patience right now? We can argue over whether or not it matters if I was awake prior to your texts, or you can sit your ass down and tell me why you're really here. Because so help me God, it is now 4:00am and while I don't relish the thought, I will kick you out of this house if you don't choose wisely."

He raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Am I allow to come in?" His eyes dart towards the empty side of the bed before coming back to rest on her and she sighs ( _in for a penny, in for a pound)._ "Sure. I don't really feel like moving."

He climbs onto the bed next to her. He seems to have regained enough common sense to know better than to try sliding in beside her, because he arranges himself above the covers and fluffs up the pillows before laying back, hands crossed on his chest old-school therapy style.

"So?" she prompts, rolling over onto her side to get a better look at him.

"So..." he pauses, "I'm here."

"I can see that. You want to tell me why?"

"Honestly? God T, you're going to think I'm such a sap. But I got in the cab to leave Molly's and they asked me where home was and the only place I could think of was you..."

"Scott," she breathes out his name as a warning.

"I know, I know. I should have given my own address, or my parent's address, or even my brother's. But all I could think of was how I hadn't seen you in a month, and that felt so strange. So _wrong_. I just wanted to fix it. I didn't even look at the time on the clock, I told the cabby to bring me here. And then it was three in the morning and I felt like such an idiot!" He flings an arm across his face as he mutters the last part, then peeks at her from under his own elbow. "I'm definitely an idiot, right?"

"Correct. You are indeed, in this moment, a Grade A idiot. Scott, what if I hadn't been home? I could have been in Toronto, or Saskatchewan. It's the middle of January, it's -25 out there! What would you have done if I hadn't answered your texts?"

"Gone home?" He's still hiding behind his arm. "Look T, I accept that I screwed up and my timing sucks. My timing has never been good when it comes to you, but you were here, so do we really have to play the 'what if' game right now?"

"No," she concedes, tucking away the first half of that sentence to unpack later, "but Scott, what on earth is going on? I've never seen you like this before, and don't you dare tell me everything is fine like you have been for the past six months, because it's pretty clear that's a lie."

He groans in return, "way to call me out Virtch!"

"Hey, you're the one that decided to show up on my doorstep drunk. Time to deal with the consequences kid!"

He's still burying his face under his elbow, and she's becoming increasingly concerned that he might nod off before they finish this conversation. She steels herself with a quiet breath, and the gingerly reaches out to peel his arm away. It's the first time she's touched him outside of a rink in... months? His sharp intake of breath as she makes contact tells her all she needs to know, so she sends out a silent apology to Kaitlyn and loosely interweaves their fingers in a way that will ground him.

"Scott, look at me." He peers up at her and she does her best to fix her face with a calm, reassuring smile. "Time to start talking."

"I feel..." he clears his throat, "so... lost? Stuck? I don't have a fucking clue how to do this 'normal' life thing. I feel like someone should have given us a Retirement for Dummies guide before they let us loose in the real world. Well, me anyway. You're rocking it over there with this whole 'Year of Yes' thing."

She snorts at that and earns herself a side-eye. "What?! You are!!!"

"Looks can be deceiving Scott. Some of us just choose to cope with excessive exercise and middle of the night bubble baths." She squeezes his hand as if to reinforce her point.

He hums his acceptance. "Still doing better than me. At least you've figured out how to be a functional, contributing member of society. Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to scrape together my final diploma credits with a bunch of high school dropouts. And before you say it, I know, I never should have quit in the first place - you told me so! And yes, I am aware that I am technically one of those dropouts, but nothing has ever made me feel less like a former Olympic champion than sitting in a classroom revisiting my teenage frustrations with advanced functions."

She chuckles. "Fair, but at least it will be over soon? Then what? Coaching? I know you talked about it with Patch, you have the basic certifications..."

He scrunches his face in disgust. "I'm not sure I'd be a good coach right now."

"Bullshit. You'd be a great coach! I've been watching you practice for the past 17 years, I would know!"

"No, seriously Tess. I feel like I'm still too twisted from our experience, I'm worried I might corrupt the kids with my bitterness. They don't deserve to carry the weight of my shortcomings, that's not fair to them."

"Scott," she pushes him gently, "the very fact that you're aware of that? That's one of the many reasons you'd be an amazing coach. You can share the lessons of your experiences without sharing the burdens too, but if you're not ready, then you're not ready."

"Thanks T," he squeezes her hand in return, "that means a lot."

"So," she queries, "what do you want to do then? Because let me be clear, seat warming at Molly's is not a viable career option!"

That earns her a genuine laugh, and he rolls over to face her, propping himself up with an elbow while still keeping their hands joined. The look on his face is serious, and the fear in his eyes sends her insides twisting, because she knows exactly what he's about to say.

"Tessa. I want to keep skating. With you. Not just tours. The whole shebang."

"Scott..." She can't manage more than that. She's fought so hard to get to this point, to try to understand exactly how to live her day to day life without him by her side. She's still learning how to be Tessa and not 'Tessa & Scott'. It's been awkward and lonely and exhilarating and frustrating, and it would be so easy just to let it all fall away. She could say yes in a heartbeat and go back to being Virtue & Moir, never one without the other. There are days where that's the only thing she wants in life. Which is exactly how she knows she's not ready. She might get there, someday, but today isn't that day. It's still too soon.

"Scott..." She tries again, but he cuts her off.

"Look, I know you're not there. I can read it all over your face right now, so please, breathe!"

Somehow she manages that small task, and he rewards her with a sleepy smile.

"What I wanted to say, was that I know you're not there yet. Hell, if tonight has demonstrated anything, it's that I'm not there yet either. But I want to be, someday, and I'll wait for you. Whenever you're ready, if you're ever ready, I'll be there."

She stifles a yawn.

"Bedtime kiddo!" He ruffles her hair.

"Says the man who interrupted my beauty sleep two hours ago!" Her eyelids have been feeling increasingly heavy and there's no denying that she's fading fast. 

"Stay?" She asks, tugging at him to get under the covers as she reaches for the lights.

"Of course." She feels the mattress shift again under his weight, but he stays firmly wedged on his side of the bed. "Good night Tess..."

"Good night..." she turns her back to him, sleep quickly stealing in. "Oh, and Scott," she mumbles, "I'll wait for you too."

\- - -

Waiting, she thinks, might be the wrong choice of word.

It feels more like growing. The seed of the idea is there, but it needs time and gentle nurturing before it can develop roots. She can't see it yet, the finished picture with the final blossoms, but she can always feel it, gently expanding in the back of her mind.

It's there as Scott makes an effort to reconnect, to weave his way back into her life with some sense of regularity. They skate once a week, meet for hot chocolate between her classes, and through it all he surprises her with a newfound sense of punctuality.

They go on tour for Stars on Ice, and she feels the tendrils slowly start to break the surface as they settle back into a familiar routine. Skating to 'How Will I Know' every night feels like the therapeutic release that her 15 ( _18/20/24_ ) year old self has always needed, but otherwise it's light and it's fun, and she finds herself laughing a lot more than she has in the past year.

The sprout pushes skyward when their eyes connect across a bar in Scotland, and despite the presence of a familiar blonde at his side, she can see the leaves emerging as Miku croons softly into the microphone.

 _I've been taking on a new direction_  
_But I have to say_  
_I've been thinking about my own protection_  
_It scares me to feel this way_

She's not there, yet, but she can feel the roots deepening, spreading below the surface and she's learning how to be at home in her own skin again.  _Almost. Soon._

The buds begin to form a month later, as they cram themselves into a car and begin the two hour trek across the bustle of Beijing in search of the Great Wall of China. They start to swell, petals unfurling as the conversation turn to questions of a hypothetical comeback (Where do we train?  _Montréal_. Who coaches?  _Marie-France and Patrice, no one else_ ), then to philosophical ones ( _Why would we do this? What would we do differently? What do we have to offer?_ ). She's pleased to find that they're mostly on the same hypothetical page. They've stuck purely to the logistics of skating so far, but as they scale the steps of the Great Wall, she feels a shift in Scott's mood.

They walk side by side in silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts as the trickle of fellow tourists around them slowly tapers off. It's a muggy day, mist is thick in the air and she can feel the hairs at the nape of her neck beginning to curl with sweat. She pauses to peer through one of the parapets and Scott squeezes in beside her, taking in the view.

"So" He ventures.

"So?" She doesn't look at him just yet, keeps her eyes trained on the greenery below.

"This hypothetical comeback plan..."

"Mmhmm?"

"Is there anything else you'd want to add to it?" She catches an edge in his voice, something that sounds a bit raw and nervous. She twists to look at him, leaning against the wall, and finds that he's watching her, his face completely open for her to read.

She turns the question over in her mind, thinks through each of the topics they covered on the long drive here, and finds that from an athletic perspective, there's very little that they've left untouched. Sure, she has things she'd still like to discuss ( _How does Kaitlyn fit into this plan? Do you think you can balance both? What if I need you to choose me?),_  but she's not sure she's ready to dive into those murky emotional waters right now.

She settles for shaking her head and returning the favour. "Do you have anything else, hypothetically?"

He pulls in a deep breath. "Just one thing."

She's not sure if she should be bracing herself for this, so she tries her best to mimic his calm and accepting stance. "Which is?"

He smiles as he locks eyes with her. "I'd like to take out the hypothetical part, make it official. What'd ya say Virtch, wanna go to another Olympics?"

She deadpans, "Oh, you mean 2022? I heard it's not far from here. Might be a few decent skaters we could watch."

That earns her a guffawing belly laugh, and she finds a smile creeping across her face and into her bones. She knows. No more waiting.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?" He's eyeing her carefully, but she can see a grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Let's go to another Olympics."

He lets out an elated whoop, pulling her into a hug and twirling her around. As the world spins by from the safety of his arms, she can see the blossoms opening, turning their colourful faces towards the sounds of their happiness. There's still work to be done, probably more than she can anticipate, but she's ready. They're ready.

They leave the Great Wall hand in hand and spend the three hour journey to the airport talking about anything and everything else in their lives ( _except that one thing_ ). On the flight home, they make a list, and when they land, she messages Patrice and Marie-France to ask for meeting.

It builds slowly from there, but one blossom follows another, and each day the vision becomes increasingly clear. Somewhere along the way, Kaitlyn fades out of the picture. The details of the how and why are hazy, all she knows is that since September she's been on the receiving end of Scott's full and undivided attention. By December, the comeback is set in stone, and they tell their families over the holidays.

It's January and they're working with Marie-France and David Wilson, finally choreographing to 'What's Love Got to Do With It'. They're in the middle of a no-touch step sequence when she locks eyes with Scott across the ice and she's floored by the range of emotions she sees flash across his face.  _Anger._ _Regret. Sadness. Longing. Trust... Love?_ She feels a familiar tugging at her heart. It's not unlike the one she experienced this time last year, when he showed up on her doorstep in the middle of the night asking her to consider this comeback. She takes a moment to acknowledge it, then sets it aside. The seed has been planted, she just needs to give it time.

\- - -

It is one of the few irrefutable facts in Tessa’s life - that no one else has touched her as much as Scott has, that it’s unlikely anyone will ever top the amount of time he has spent holding her hand. 

It hasn’t happened without change. The ways in which they connect have shifted frequently as they’ve grown up and into each other.From gripping over top of her big woolen mittens as they stumbled in slow laps around the Ilderton rink, to gangly teenagers learning the graceful intricacies of deep edges and closed holds in Waterloo: and now in Montréal, understanding that if she interlocks her pinky between his ring and index fingers, science actually says their skating will be better balanced.

In a lot of ways this feels like a metaphor for her life - always more stable and at ease when he is by her side. Which is not to say that it's been easy, if anything, the past two years have taught them that it's not, but she finds that even the dark times are more bearable with him there to lean on. She knows he feels the same way, he's taken advantage of every opportunity given to make sure that she ( _and the rest of the world_ ) hears exactly how much he relies on her, respects her and appreciates her. She thinks there are three other words he'd like to use, ones that carry a much heavier weight, but he doesn't say them. Not in public, not yet.

She was the last to utter them, as they slowly fell away from each other and into the break. He'd caught them ( _because no matter the context, he'd never let her fall_ ), but she knows now that he wasn't ready to hear them, that he couldn't find a way to say them back that wouldn't have broken her even more than Sochi already had.

She also knows, in her heart, that for Scott this two year plan has been about more than just a return to skating. It has been about them finding their way back to each other, repairing the foundations of trust that had been so badly shaken and building upon them in ways they never could have previously imagined. It's been about finally reaching their full potential as healthy athletes, about pushing the boundaries where art meets sport and showing the world that there's further still to go. It's also been about proving that the man he's grown into is now ready - that he is deserving of her, committed to her. That he is prepared to listen and to say those three words in return when the time comes.

He murmurs fragments of them in pre-skate affirmations, sings them to her as Christian would to Satine, whispers to her that she's worth the wait. He doesn't say them in full, never as Scott to Tessa. Instead he lets his actions speak for him. They weave themselves into the softness of his touch, add warmth to her morning coffee as he keeps up with her ever changing order, sparkle at her from the corners of his eyes when he watches her speak during interviews. They're always there, hovering in plain sight, waiting for her to be ready to receive them.

Tentatively, she allows herself to indulge in their presence, to test the waters of what life outside of skating might be like with Scott by her side. She tries Tuesday nights with him dancing in her kitchen, Saturday afternoons exploring art galleries and farmer's markets, lazy Sundays spent lounging on the sofa with Netflix droning in the background as she looks over contracts and he files paperwork for the skate shop. She thinks she should find the ease at which they settle into this seemingly domestic routine somewhat alarming, but instead it relaxes her, assures her that someday ( _soon_ ) this could work.

She begins to return the lingering glances, allows him to wrap his arms around her waist as she stands at the stove, curls herself into his side and cuddles up to him as they lounge on his couch. When he reaches out to grab her hand, excitedly wanting to point out his latest market find, she doesn't mind that he keeps holding it long after they've moved on, strolling through the crisp autumn air.

The illusion shatters when they reach the Grand Prix Final. It's the first time they've directly faced Gabi and Guillaume this season, but she's been paying enough attention to know that their scores have been climbing. Virtue and Moir are the underdogs again, and when they lose the short dance by half a point, it feels too much like 2014 for her to be comfortable. Despite all the support from their coaches and the mental prep exercises, she can feel herself retracting inward, setting up her self-defense mechanisms to deal with the inevitable disappointment of silver. She knew all along it was too good to be true, that she couldn't have him and have the gold, so she seals her heart off as well. _If she's waited twenty years, then what's another two months?_

She clears her mind and doubles down her focus on their free skate the next day. The crowd roars as she collapses into Scott's arms, and while it felt good, she knows it likely wasn't enough to win. Scott leans in for his customary cheek kiss and she panics, her eyes flashing a warning sign as she pulls away. _Not here. Not now_. Thankfully, he reads her loud and clear, and keeps his hands firmly to himself through the Kiss  & Cry and medals ceremony. They face painful questioning of the press who all want to know their next move, whether they're prepared to lose, what they will do to emerge on top at the Games. Scott takes the lead here as well, and she's surprised at how eloquently he bullshits his way through some responses.

She survives the gala and surrounding festivities on autopilot, distracts herself with the company of skaters she knows she won't see again until the Games. Scott surprises her once more, seeming to understand her need for space to process. He doesn't retaliate, merely gives her shoulder a squeeze as if to say _I'm here, when you're ready_.

Later that night she hears a knock on her door. When she opens it, she's shocked to find not only Scott, but Marie-France and Patrice on the other side. "Enough brooding," Marie-France announces as she sweeps into the room, "we need a plan!" Patch follows, armed with their score sheets, then Scott with a bottle of wine ("because it's not a training night!"). The next hour is spent dissecting the judges' feedback, circling points for improvement, the men getting caught up in the technical elements as she finds herself debating with Marie-France about the merits of changing the ending to their free dance. By 10pm, she feels lighter than she has in days, buoyed by the knowledge that this time their coaches care and want to see them succeed on honest terms. She knows they have a mountain of work to conquer in the next month, but she can already feel her walls crumbling into the warmth surrounding her. This, she thinks, is  _nothing_ like 2014.

They return to Montréal and rip apart the second half of Moulin Rouge. It's slightly terrifying to make such large changes with only Nationals to test them, but Scott is there every step of the way. He reassures her, with words and with touch, that no matter what, he will be proud of their accomplishments, of what they have achieved _together_. As the Olympic bubble once again tightens around them, she can feel those three long forgotten words floating close to the surface, increasingly on the verge of slipping past her lips. They too, feel different from before ( _from 2008, from 2014_ ), doesn't feel like they would be a last hope in the face of fear or a life preserver thrown to a drowning man. Far from the distraction she'd always assumed they'd bring, they feel grounded, real, _true_. She doesn't let them escape though, not yet.

She holds them tight, just as she's held on to Scott for her entire life, keeps them beating safely in her chest. They anchor her during the nerves and excitement of the opening ceremonies, keep her stable through the pure joy of winning the team event. They energize her during their training week in Seoul, providing her with focus as they continue to make minute adjustments. They almost get away from her in a moment of celebration following their win of the short dance, but she claws them back, swallows them down for one more day. Mental training has helped her to give up most of her old superstitions, but she clings to the potential of those three words like they're the good luck charm she's always needed.

They draw number twenty, making them the last to skate, and it feels like a sign from the universe. After talking it over with JF, they decide they don't want to know the scores of any other team. The bubble narrows to just the two of them, tucked away from the world with Patch standing guard at the door. They hear the roar of the crowd as the French finish their skate, and Scott pulls her into one last hug, presses a kiss to her hair before they leave the room.

 _This is for us._  
_No matter what happens, it's just us._  
_Together._  
_Always._

Their breathing in sync, they take the ice for one last time. The crowd is screaming so loudly that they might as well be in Canada, but unlike in Vancouver or Sochi, she doesn't hear them. She's focused only on the man across the ice as they transform from Tessa and Scott into Satine and Christian, fire lighting both of their eyes.

It feels like both an eternity and a heartbeat before it's over. The energy in the arena is building with the music, palpable even from within the bubble, the audience on its feet before they'd reached the ending pose. She thinks she might be vibrating with happiness on a cellular level, but all she can see and feel is _scottscottscott_. He's scooping her up in a hug, and she thinks he might be crying until he backs away to let out a cathartic "YES!" She doesn't have words, can only laugh and cry and try to catch her breath as he picks her up again, twirling her around before they remember that they have to take a bow.

They make it to the Kiss & Cry, but she finds she doesn't want to let go of him for more than ten seconds. _No matter what_ , she reminds herself, _this feeling right now is the one I'll remember_. Their free dance score is announced, and Patch leans in to tell her it's enough. Scott is still squinting, waiting for the final number to roll in.

"Their total score is 206.7 points and they are currently in...first place."

A scream escapes her as Scott leaps out of his seat, then hauls her into a bone crushing hug, his fingers digging into her back. "We did it!" he's whispering in her ear "thank you, thank you for this Tess. I'm so proud." She has to pull back, to see his face as the words finally come rushing past her lips.

"I love you so much!"

He's crying too, and she understands now why it's his favourite sound in the world, as he leans back in to kiss her cheek, trying to eliminate all space between them as he whispers back "I love you too."

They separate to accept congratulations from those around them, but they are never apart for long. The venue ceremony, the press circuit, finally hugging their families, receiving their medals - it all passes in a blur of endorphins and her face feels like it might fall off from smiling so hard.

They finally get a moment to themselves, much later that night, as she sits sideways on her bed, their medals gleaming at them from the dresser across the room. She hasn't had a drink yet, but the adrenaline is still running so high that she feels giddy. Scott joins her, having stripped out of his Team Canada gear in favour of Maple Leafs sweats and a Moir's Skate Shop tee.

"So..." He's still smiling as he settles in beside her, and it feels like it could be any other night on her couch in Montréal.

"So?" She scoots closer, allows him to take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckle before he continues. She knows where this is going, but she'll let him have his moment.

"You love me?" His eyes are twinkling, and while it's not really a question, she thinks she'll have some fun with him first.

"Did I say that?" She wrinkles her brow quizzically, feigning ignorance. "I'm not sure that's what I meant..."

"No?" His tone is still light, but she can see the nerves beginning to fray, his grip on her hand loosening as his eyes drop.

"Nope," she teases. "I think what I meant to say was thank you. For all of this, for the past two years, for the past twenty years. For holding my hand every day, but also for holding my heart. Because yes, I love you as the best friend I cannot remember my life without, but I'm also _in love_ with you and the incredible man you've become."

"Oh..." His eyes are shining as he looks up, and she thinks he might be on the verge of that wonderful laugh-cry as he gathers both of her hands in his. "That's good, because I'm in love with you too."

"I know," she has to laugh. How could she not have known? "I've known for a while, and I love and appreciate that you waited for me to be ready. I'm so ready!"

They sit in silence for a moment, just taking each other in, hands still tangled as they rest in her lap. There's one more thing that she wants.

"Hey Scott?" It's possible she's going to burn up if this takes any longer.

"Yeah?” He's looking at her like he'd reach for the moon if she asked, and oh god, does she ever love this man!

"You should probably kiss me now..."

He smirks, "Hey Tess?"

"Yes?" He really needs to stop looking at her like that, it's making it hard to breath.

"I thought you'd never ask!”

She doesn't have time to answer, because his lips are slowly pressing against hers and any breath that she did have left vanishes in an instant. They've kissed before, but it's always been a stolen, heated moment, or a quick brush as two characters on ice. This feels like melting into him, as if every word of affection that has gone unsaid over the years could be poured into one kiss. His hands slip around her waist and one climbs to cradle her neck. He guides her into a new angle, allowing him to deepen the kiss even further.

Eventually she’s forced to pull away, desperate for air. He presses his forehead against hers, their joined hands coming to rest over his chest and she realizes that even in this, their heartbeats have synced. The sound fills her ears and her chest with the rhythm of _home.home.home_. and she smiles, because he is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a week between chapters? What is this madness?!  
> I looked at my schedule for the next two months, laughed a little, cried a bit, and then sacrificed my Thanksgiving weekend to the writing gods. The plus one is _maybe_ almost finished, but I could still change my mind entirely.  
>  In the mean time, enjoy the shameless fluff of this ending!


	6. Plus One - XXI

He’s 10 years old and he’s not sure what this funny feeling is in his stomach, but he knows better than to mention it to the friends gathered around him as he picks up the phone. His hands shake as he dials her number and he silently prays that no one is home so that he can avoid this situation all together. Unfortunately, today is not his day and the line clicks as someone picks up on the other end.  
  
“Good evening, this is the Virtue residence, Jim speaking.”  
  
“Hi Mr Virtue, can I uhhh... can I speak to Tessa please?”  
  
“Sure Scott, let me get her for you.”

Static crackles as the phone is placed down next to the receiver, but all he can hear is the sound of his own heart thumping in his chest.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hi Tessa, it’s Scott”  
  
“I know...”  
  
“Oh. Ummm well I was calling because I don’t think it’s a good idea for ustogooutanymore”  
  
He cringes as he blurts out the last part, but one of his buddies pats him on the shoulder and nods for him to continue.  
  
“Oh. Okay...”  
  
“Okay. Good. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow bye!”  
  
He slams the phone down without waiting for her response, and goes back to playing video games with his friends. As he tries to fall asleep later that night, something that feels a lot like guilt weighs heavily on his mind.  
  
\- - -  
  
He’s 21 years old and he misses his best friend. He’s never admitted out loud before that she’s his bestie ( _oh how his buddies would laugh_ ), but now that there’s a gaping Tessa-shaped hole in his life, he’s realizing this is a glaring mistake.  
  
His cell phone taunts him from his dresser across the room. He knows that it wouldn’t take much to reach her, a phone call or a text would do the trick, but the distance feels so much wider than the four steps from his bed.  
  
It’s been three weeks since he left her sleeping peacefully in her bed without so much as a note, after she shocked him with the truth about the depth of her injury. It’s been two weeks since she came out of surgery, and while he knows she’s okay because his mother had phoned him with an update ( _and told him to get his act together to be the partner she deserved_ ), he just can’t bring himself to bridge the gap.  
  
The thing is, he knows he’s an asshole. He also knows he’s angry. Angry at Tessa for not being honest with him, angry with himself for not catching on to just how much pain she was masking. He’s angry at the universe for halting their progress after an incredibly magical season, just when everything seemed to be falling into place and their dreams were finally within reaching distance. But mostly he’s angry at the fact that he’s powerless to help her, that he has no control over whether or not this surgery saves their partnership.  
  
He also feels guilty. Guilty that while Tessa is bedridden and relearning how to walk, he can skate just like any old day. Except that it’s not any old day because she’s not there, and Marina wants him to test out new partners “just in case.” He agrees to try one, only to appease her, but the girl isn’t Tessa ( _too tall, too blonde, too blue-eyed_ ) and her hands feel all wrong. He sees someone snap a photo of the two of them skating laps out of the corner of his eye, and the thought of it getting back to Tessa makes him feel so violently ill that he calls the whole thing off. He would rather blister his fingers lifting sandbags and dancing with broomsticks than partner with anyone else.  
  
But at the end of the day, as much as his fingers itch and the guilt burns, he still doesn’t cross the room to pick up his phone.  
  
\- - -  
  
He’s 25 years old and his brain ( _among other body parts_ ) feels like it’s on fire. This isn’t a new sensation, it’s been happening since he was 17 and Tessa showed up to practice in their costumes wearing a deep red dress with a plunging V of a neckline. He vaguely recalls forgetting to breath when he went to pull her into a dance hold and discovered that it also had no back.  
  
He’s managed to tamp down on these feelings over the years, reminding himself that she’s his best friend and kind of like his little sister? He’s supposed to protect her and he’s  _definitely_  not supposed to have feelings for her. But now Tessa is backflipping onto his shoulders and into a very intimate position on a daily basis, and he’s having a  _very_  hard time keeping his hands to himself.  
  
They’ve been walking a dangerously fine line since the season began. He knows he started it, but it’s crystal clear that she’s now testing his boundaries and just waiting for him to snap. And to be honest, he’s not sure how much resolve he has left. His latest girlfriend had NOPED on out of the picture after seeing them perform Carmen in practice. He’d barely mustered an argument in return - better to scare her off now than to fight with her for an entire season, right?  
  
They’re at Skate Canada and he’s bristling with nervous energy after their short dance. The scores aren’t what he wants them to be, and while they can’t change them, they can perform the shit out of Carmen tomorrow. He genuinely intended for this to be a standard hotel practice, but he’s pretty sure all the air was sucked out of the room with Tessa’s arrival and he knows now that this is going to be the night he caves.  
  
Except it’s not just one night, because once he has permission to run his hands over every part of her  _(and to hear her respond_ ), he can’t bring himself to quit cold turkey. So it becomes most competition nights - because they won, because they lost, because her legs hurt and she wants to ignore the pain, because they're frustrated with Marina... the list of justifications that they find is endless.  
  
The thing is, he wants more than just sex. He wants Tessa Virtue in all of her glory, but he knows that goal is unattainable, so he settles for the pieces she’ll give him and memorizes the feeling of her under his hands like every time might be the last. Until it is, because Carmen is over and so are their excuses.  
  
\- - -  
  
He’s 26 years old, and the world feels like it’s falling apart at his fingertips.

Tessa is sitting in front of him, telling him she no longer wants to skate anymore, and he finds that the overwhelming emotion coursing through his body isn’t anger, but instead pure relief. Relief that he too, can admit this is no longer bringing him joy, that it’s okay if they’ve both fallen out of love with their sport, because at least it’s mutual.  
  
They make it to Sochi, and onto the podium twice, but silver feels heavy in a way that gold never did, and his fingers ache to take off his medals as soon as he is out of the sight of other athletes. They celebrate their win ( _loss_ ) in what feels like a moment of mutually assured destruction - this doesn’t have to be the end if they don’t acknowledge it.  
  
The problem is, he knows what he wants, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it. He wants Tessa. As a skating partner, as a best friend, but most importantly he wants her by his side for the rest of his life. And this scares him shitless, more than anything else he’s ever faced, so he does what he knows best - he runs from his fears.  
  
He careens smack dab into a pair of brown eyes, whose honey coloured hair and rumbling laughter doesn’t remind him of the past 16 years, but makes him smile when he feels like he’s let the rest of the world down. So he digs in deep, puts down roots and tries to figure out how to be a normal adult. He feels like he’s failing miserably.  
  
And then there’s Tessa, who forces his hand and he finds that the fear of losing her entirely is far greater than the fear of trying to keep her forever. So he backpedals on the topic of retirement and recognizes that she’s throwing him a lifeline when she reminds him that she’ll always love him, no matter what.  
  
He wants to scream it from the roof tops, to let her know that yes, he loves her too, with every fibre of his being. But he can do is say “thank you,” because after all this time, he’s still the asshole who can’t close the three foot gap between him and his partner.  
  
\- - -

He's 27 years old and for the first time he understands what it means to have too much time on your hands.

His life so far has been measured in competitive seasons, planned according to four year cycles, every last minute accounted for with a single-minded focus. His decisions too, have all revolved around skating. He's said no to so many opportunities, missed out on so many important events over the years that he's lost count  _(Sorry, but I have to miss your wedding, Nationals are that week. I wish I could go on that ski trip, but the injury risk is too high. No, I can't have that beer, I have to compete tomorrow. Thank you, I love you, but this timing is all wrong)._ Now, the future stretches out in front of him with no schedule or deadlines or limits, just an unfathomable amount of time.

At first he fills it with much needed rest and the company of family and friends, then he has tours to distract him from the empty void that lies ahead. Summer rolls by in a flash of heat and lazy days spent lounging in hammocks, drinking with his buddies and occasionally playing baseball (it's called beer league for a reason). When September announces its arrival, everyone else returns to real life - a new school year, a new competitive season, a renewed focus on their job - and he finds himself forced to confront the fact that he has no plan.

He buys a house - an absolute wreck of a property, if he's being honest - and decides to make that his next project. He's not much of a handyman, but hey, maybe it's time he focuses on learning a new skill? Danny and Charlie offer to help, but they both have their own lives to contend with, so progress is slow. The house isn't really fit to be lived in, but it's better than being stuck in his childhood bedroom with his parents always lurking nearby. It may be cold and drafty, and it's  _definitely_  creepy after dark, but there's no one here to judge him if he chooses to drink his nightmares away.

They seem to come more frequently these days, taunting him with the possibilities that he pushes down deep in the light of day. Tessa often appears as the main subject. The less he sees of her in real life, the more likely she is to show up in his mind as he restlessly tosses in his makeshift bed. She's always successful in his dreams, arguing cases for highly respected clients or taking charge of her own business empire. She doesn't skate with him anymore. Instead, she hosts charity events with a handsome mystery man on her arm, always tall, clean cut and well off.  _The kind of man she deserves_ , he thinks bitterly when he wakes. He chases the memories away with a swig of whisky and tries to fall back into a dreamless sleep. He doesn't succeed.

It catches up with him eventually. It's January, Kaitlyn is constantly away, swept up in the depths of her competitive season and the post-holiday blues are hitting him hard. He's not doing a great job at the whole sleeping thing and in an effort to cope he finds himself moping around at Molly Bloom's. He's staring at the bottom of another empty glass when he's struck by the whopping realization that he hasn't seen Tessa in weeks.  _WEEKS!_  Somewhere in the very foggy back of his brain, he registers that it must be pretty late, but all he can focus on is rectifying this situation as quickly as possible. If he can just talk to her, his  _what-ifs_  and  _maybes_  might stop clamoring for attention and let him get some sleep.

Turns out that it's not just late, it's basically the middle of the night and Tessa is definitely not happy to see him. The death stare he receives upon opening her front door is enough to make him feel like he's 9 years old and in trouble for throwing snow at the girls again, but he probably deserves it more now than ever. He's grateful when she relents, allows him to shower and climb onto her bed before spilling out every thought he's been holding onto for the last six months, no holds barred. Something about the stillness of the early hour and the comfort of her touch makes him honest, and he finds the proposal of a comeback slipping past his lips before the idea is even fully formed in his head.  _Sober Scott won't thank him for that one in the morning._ He manages to walk them both back from the edge of panic, tries to assure himself just as much as her that they are both capable of reaching that place. They just need time.

They fall asleep on opposite sides of the same bed, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his dreams are blissfully free of demons. When he wakes the next morning, fingers tangled in her blankets and one arm wrapped reflexively around her waist, it's the most peace he's felt in years.  _Someday_ , he reminds himself as he extracts his limbs from the warmth of her body.  _Not yet_ , he repeats as he scribbles a note of gratitude to leave on the pillow.  _But soon_ , he thinks as he quietly pulls her front door closed and slips into the idling cab.  _Not yet, but some day soon._  He just has to be ready when it arrives.

\- - -

He's 31 years old when he knows for sure that he never wants to let go of her hand. They're on a flight to Newfoundland, heading toward the last two shows of their Thank You Canada Tour and he won't deny that he's feeling a little sentimental. When he looks back at everything that's happened this year ( _and the last twenty_ ), he supposes he might have earned the right to be a sap.

The sun glints off the Atlantic and the outlines of a tiny hand print catch his eye on the plane window. It's smudged a bit, most likely from the child's over excitement, but it can't be much larger than Tessa's hand was when he first held it. He had no way of knowing then, that enclosed in her big woolen mittens were the hands that would change the shape his life. They've spent so much time wrapped around each other, constantly intertwining as they've grown, that he thinks sometimes even their fingerprints might have blended with one another. He knows that's not how it works, but he also knows that if you dusted his body like a crime scene, the evidence of her presence would be everywhere.

She'd be found in the scar across his left palm where her blade had caught him one too many times during a lift, in the bruise gently blooming on his shin where she'd accidentally kicked him in the middle of the night. The strength he's built up over the last two years serves as visual proof that now he can shoulder not only her physical weight, but can help carry her emotional burdens as well. The crinkles that are beginning to permanently form at the corners of his eyes remind the world that her laughter is his favourite sound, and the love shining in their reflection, well, he thinks that's always been there, it might just be growing brighter by the day.

He allows himself to dream of a future where the two of them do actually meld themselves together, to imagine a world where that blurry hand print on the window belongs to one of their children. It's still a far off vision, he hasn't even asked her to marry him ( _yet_ ), but he's overwhelmed with the possibilities held in the hazy image of dark curly hair and deep green eyes. Tiny fingers reach out to grasp at his own and his stomach swoops low with a heady mixture of excitement and nerves, the kind that he usually associates to taking the ice at a major competition. He sucks in a deep breath to try to ground himself, and Tessa nudges him back to the present.

"What'cha thanking about over there?" Her expression is a mixture of amusement and mild concern. "You looked like you were about a million miles away..."

His faces softens into a smile, and he absentmindedly strokes his thumb across the knuckles of her left hand as he decides how much of the truth he wants to divulge.

"You. Me. Us."

(If his thumb happens to be brushing circles around the base of her fourth finger, he doesn't notice. She does, and she blushes at the thought of the ring box hidden deep in the back of his sock drawer in Montréal.)

She smiles back at him, teasing, "is that all?"

He hums, not committing himself either way, then flips his hand over and wiggles his fingers for her to take. She slips her pinky in between his ring and index fingers and squeezes once before resting her head against his shoulder.

"Mostly," he whispers as he drops a kiss to her hairline, "I was thinking about how after all these years, holding your hand is still the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She chuckles, but presses a soft kiss to his shoulder in return. "You're becoming an overly romantic sap in your old age Moir!"

"Ahhh, but I'm your over-romantic sap Kiddo, and I plan on holding this hand for a _very_ long time. You might be stuck with me forever!”  
  
He squeezes her hand to emphasize his words, and when she peers up at him, the love and awe she finds in his eyes is enough to melt the few reservations she could’ve had left.

Her eyes are sparkling as she responds, "you should definitely never, ever let go."

And he doesn't. Not for a very, _very_ long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it!!! The end is here! 
> 
> Thank you to those of you who have stuck around for this ride and offered support/comments/kudos along the way. Putting your writing out into the world is a scary thing (especially when you've never done it before) and you've made me feel appreciated on more than one occasion.
> 
> And on that note, yell at me in the comments one last time, or find me over on tumblr/twitter as soshedances18!


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